


for what it's worth

by apathofcinders



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Strangulation, Unhealthy Relationships, aka bad dad jack, elements could be considered dubcon, highly questionable parenting methods, like a huge age difference, sugar daddy elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6781681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathofcinders/pseuds/apathofcinders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I'm late she'll know something's up, she'll-"</p><p>A guide to secretly seducing your best friend's hot and powerful dad and why that might be a terrible idea (but seemed like a good one at the time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by ThirtySixSaveFiles' college AU series of shorts with the idea of what if this affair went on way longer without anyone being found out.
> 
> Special thank you to my awesome beta.
> 
> reading notes: all "nows" take place at the very present timeline in the story and are chronological, while "thens" are kind of all over the map, and not always in order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boiling frog is an anecdote describing a frog slowly being boiled alive. The premise is that if a frog is placed in boiling water, it will jump out, but if it is placed in cold water that is slowly heated, it will not perceive the danger and will be cooked to death. The story is often used as a metaphor for the inability or unwillingness of people to react to or be aware of threats that occur gradually.

Now

 

"C'mon...c'mon...!" Rhys whined into the thin mattress his face was pressed against, pushing his hips back with impatience. "If I'm late she'll know something's up, she'll-"

"Can you keep your frickin' paranoia to yourself for five more minutes, pumpkin? I'm trying to get off here." Above him, Jack kept his pace steady despite the movement of Rhys' hips. "Besides, for all she knows I'm at the office. So shut up and let me enjoy this."

Rhys groaned under his breath, defeated. Jack responded by pushing his face further into the sheets.

It took more than five minutes--or at least it felt that way--but Jack finally started to increase his speed, losing rhythm, hopefully close. Rhys had known he wasn't getting off today, his worry killing any chance of orgasm, but if it hadn't been a boner killer before it definitely became one as his phone began to chime, the name ANGEL displayed across his screen.

 "Shit! Jack-" Jack shushed loudly, interrupting him as he grabbed Rhys' hips and held them back against his own, coming at last.

 Jack panted heavily for a few beats, "Christ, you're a mood killer."

 "Ugh, get offa me," Rhys huffed, wriggling out from under Jack’s heavy weight and rolling himself off the bed. "You've gotta go now."

"Come on sweetheart, at least let me pay you if you’re gonna act that way." Jack smiled up at him, but he was already tucking himself back in and moving to do his pants up.

" _Now._ "

 Jack clicked his tongue as he did an exaggerated eyeroll, re-emphasizing that he thought Rhys was overreacting, but he didn't argue it. He finished buttoning himself up and made his way to Rhys' dormrooms door. Before letting himself out, he turned back to Rhys one last time, giving him a knowing smirk. "See you at dinner."

As soon as the door clicked shut Rhys raced to grab his phone, dialing the missed call as he multi-tasked wiping off and putting on fresh clothes.  After half a ring she picked up. "Rhys! Where are you? The movie starts in less than thirty minutes, we-"

"I know, I know, I'm so sorry, I fell asleep doing homework," he cut her off, speaking fast and clearly panicked.

Angel sighed over the line, but her voice was more sympathetic than annoyed. "Again?"

 "Yeah, I'm really sorry. You guys go in and get seats, I'll be there soon. Maybe miss the trailers."

"But that's the best part!" He could hear Vaughn chime in from the background.

 "I'll be there soon," he repeated.

 Angel reassured him there would be popcorn left by the time he arrived, and to not worry so much before hanging up. He was hearing that a lot today.

 Maybe Jack wasn't totally off about how skittish he was about their whole...about whatever it was they had going on, but he was sure it was his over-worrying that had kept the whole thing so secret for the last 6 months, ever since Jack had re-entered his life. When it came to matters like this, being on the side of too cautious was better than throwing caution to the wind.

 Rhys checked himself in the mirror, adjusting his shirt and running his hand back through his hair. He glanced down at his wrist--he had no time to fix it into something more refined, but if he left now at least he'd make the trailers. They were, after all, the best part.

* * *

 Then

 

Rhys met Angel in his second year of highschool when she abruptly transferred into his homeroom in the middle of the first semester. She was quiet spoken and kept to herself, and honestly, Rhys hadn't taken much notice of her until Yvette brought her up.

"So," she began in a hushed tone, leaning forward on her desk, "what do you guys think of new girl?"

 Class had yet to begin, and Rhys and Vaughn had been huddled around Yvette’s desk, making small talk and inside jokes when the question about her came up. Rhys and Vaughn made no small effort to conceal their staring as they turned their heads to take a look.

"Do you two not understand how to gossip subtly?" Yvette said, deadpan and exasperated.

 Not addressing her criticism, Rhys shrugged. "Not really my type." he responded.

 " _Really_ not my type," Vaughn added in.

Yvette huffed, spreading her hands in front of her. "I'm not asking you what you think of her _looks_ , you idiots."

"Then what are you asking?" Rhys raised a brow, sassing but clearly at a loss.

 Yvette just rolled her eyes, setting them back on Rhys with a look that Rhys knew meant he was testing her. "I mean, don't you think it's kind of lonely? Girl comes into the semester late, into the whole _grade_ late, after cliques have already been formed and established. I'm saying it must suck."

Vaughn and Rhys looked at her for a moment before Vaughn began, skeptical, "Ooookay, and what's in it for you?" Rhys nodded along.

Yvette put a hand to her chest and puffed up in an over-exaggerated display of affront. "I'm trying to get some sympathy going here and you two dare to suggest I'm playing an angle? I feel sorry for the poor thing." She smirked, sly. "The poor thing that's dropped off in a very fancy car every morning."

"I knew it!" Vaughn said, pointing an accusing finger, but Yvette just pushed it away.

 "C'mon." She nudged Rhys with her foot. "Go make introductions."

 "What? Why me?"

"Because you're the charming one," they replied in unison.

Rhys stared back at them defiantly.

"Rhys," Yvette said, staring back and willing him to fold. "She could have a pool."

Rhys looked over to Vaughn for backup, only to be met with puppy eyes that were clearly on board with Yvette's’ plan now that the chance of a pool was involved. Traitor. Rhys grumbled through it, but soon complied with his friends’ urging and made his way across the room to where the new girl sat.  

 "Hey," he began, placing a hand on her desk. "Angel, right? That's a nice name."

"And who knows," Yvette whispered to Vaughn as they watched, "maybe she'll actually be cool."


	2. Chapter 2

Now

 

Surprisingly, despite their earlier activities, Rhys and Jack were never awkward with each other around Angel, settling into a routine, almost familial.

The movie had been okay. Nothing Oscar-worthy or worth mulling over, but flashy and entertaining, worth the twelve bucks. Afterwards the three of them had made their way over to Angel's place, _Jacks_ place, and were now all settled across the couches in the basement rec room eating pizza, Jack on one of the adjacent chairs.

They weren’t awkward, but there would be moments, moments where Rhys would feel a tingling at his neck and glance up to see Jack looking at him over his laptop with intent; where he would look back in turn, silent dialogue between them, a shared secret.

 

* * *

 Then

 

 “Rhys, check this out!” Vaughn had called out before somersaulting into the water.

Angel, as it turned out, did have a pool. In fact, she had a lot of things, an expansive house, tricked out with awesome stuff from a home theater to a car showroom. Best of all was the fully-fledged entertainment room, containing all the latest video game consoles, a mini bar, a pool table... There were even pinball machines. Basically, the place was set up in a way that could keep a teenager busy for hours--make that days.

As it also turned out, Angel was a really nice and genuine person. Sickly for most of her life and consequently homeschooled, she had been eager for friends but unsure how to approach getting them. While Rhys still felt guilty over his original intentions befriending her, he was glad that those intentions had brought a good person into his life. He could make up for it by being a good friend to her while also enjoying the perks, he reasoned.

“Looking great out there, bro!” Rhys called back as Vaughn's head resurfaced. He and Yvette had been lounging poolside, watching Vaughn perform trick dives while Angel treaded water nearby. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt over her bathing suit, skin too sensitive to be exposed to sunlight for long amounts of time, and the way the fabric expanded around her reminded Rhys of a jellyfish.

Keeping his eyes on them, Rhys reached out for his drink (something fruity mixed with fizzy that Angel had put together for him) only to realize mid-sip that all he was getting through his straw was ninety percent air and ten percent fruit flavored ice water. He pulled the glass away, disappointed.

“Hey Yvette--” he started, but she must have heard the telltale slurp of a finished drink because she cut him off.

 “I’m not getting up for you, Rhys.”

He made a dramatic show at her, pouting and making puppy eyes, but Yvette wasn’t even paying attention, eyes closed behind her orange rimmed sunglasses. Eventually, Rhys gave in, thirst greater than his laziness, though he still sighed as loudly as possible as he hauled himself up and grabbed his empty glass.

The households’ kitchen was large and luxurious, most of its surfaces covered in black marble or chrome with high-tech looking gadgets lining the counters, but the place felt unlived in, like something out of a home catalog. There was even a bowl of fake fruit, though as an extra-fancy touch it seemed to be made of crystal.

At the breakfast bar sat Jack, busy on his laptop, and Rhys eyed him as he made his way over to the fridge. That was another thing about Angel--her ridiculously hot Dad. And not only in his looks (which were too perfectly sculpted to be all natural) but in the way he held himself. The man just seemed to exude raw _power_ (Rhys had learned something new about himself when he was drawn to that). It made sense, since he was the man in charge of Hyperion, one of the leading companies in technology. Rhys would be lying if he said he wasn’t completely and totally intimidated.

“Fix me something while you’re at it, kiddo,” Jack said as Rhys was pulling some drink options out of the fridge. Rhys froze on the spot, intimidation rising up around him like the tide, threatening to drown him, but somehow before it could, he managed to reply “sure.”

A few minutes later Rhys was sliding a glass over to Jack, who took a large sip before actually looking at it, one eyebrow cocked and expression utterly disgusted. “The hell is this?!”

“Er, fruit punch and gingerale?” Rhys gave a timid reply, any tiny amount confidence diminishing rapidly.

“I’ll _fruit punch you_ if you ever try to serve me crap like this again.”

Was that a real threat or a joke? With Jack Rhys could never tell, and not knowing quite how to react, just stood there stammering instead.

“I’m joking kid, jesus christ, loosen up a little.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Now go open up the freezer, gonna show you how to do this shit _right_.”

Rhys walked back to the freezer, opening it and at staring blankly. The cool air wafted up and over him, raising goosebumps on his skin almost instantly. It made him suddenly all too aware that he was half-naked. In front of Jack. That sent a whole new sort of panic coursing through him.

“Hey, hello? Earth to Rhysie?” Jack was snapping his fingers, bringing Rhys out of his spiral of self-conscious thoughts, but all he could do was stare back dumbly, still unsure what Jack wanted from him and afraid to make the wrong move.

“Now, take out the vodka, and bring it here.” Jack's voice had a lilt to it, but he wore an expression of someone largely inconvenienced, speaking slowly to Rhys as one might with a small, particularly stupid child. “That’s the bottle labelled “vodka” in case you’re too dumb to figure that one out, cupcake.”

Rhys scowled down at the bottle as he reached into the cool confines of the freezer, but brought it over without voicing complaint.

“That’s a good boy.” Jack said as he received it, and if that didn’t do just _something_ deep within Rhys’ gut... “Now watch and learn.”

 

Once Jack was done mixing his drink (his teachings not involving much more than putting a shit-ton of vodka in) he began to shoo Rhys away.

“Bartending lesson of the day is over, better go get back to your nerds.” Jack was already refocusing on his computer screen, waving in Rhys’ general direction with his free hand.

Whether it was the praise from earlier, or just being around the atmosphere of _Jack_ , something pushed forward in Rhys to allow him to boldly suggest, “why don’t you join us?”

Jack paused, fingers still on his keyboard before he began typing again, a small smirk pulling up the left side of his mouth. “Maybe in a bit, pumpkin. Now vamoose.”

It wasn’t a ‘no’, so Rhys took it as a win, smiling to himself as he returned to the backyard. The implications of Jack joining them in the pool were clear: he’d have to be in a swimsuit, and Rhys couldn't help but be a bit giddy at the possibility.

“The hell are you smiling about?” Yvette asked, eyeing Rhys over her glasses as he approached, “and weren’t you getting a drink?”

Rhys’ smile immediately faltered.

_...Dammit._

 

* * *

 

When Rhys heard the door to the patio sliding open, he nearly shot up in his seat; the anticipation of seeing Jack practically naked had been at the forefront of his mind for the past half hour or so, which he had spent both fantasizing and trying to not make it….obvious that he was doing so.

Much to Rhys’ disappointment, Jack was still fully clothed. His attention briefly turned to Rhys at his sudden movement as he (not so) subtly tried to re-settle himself, seem aloof. But when he glanced back over to Jack in the doorway, he was met with a look that said “sorry to disappoint, pumpkin.” A look that left him feeling totally exposed.

The moment was brief, though, as Jack's attention laser focused onto Angel, who had swam to the opposite side of the pool at her father's approach.

“Angel, how long have you been in there?” Jack's tone was light and one of concern, but Rhys could see from his position how Angel tensed up at his presence, worried her lower lip and replied, “I don’t know....”

Jack nodded in affirmation. “Mmhm, ‘I don’t know’ means ‘too long’. Time to get out, sweetheart, can’t have you catching a cold with your immune system the way it is.”

Angel looked crestfallen, but complied without protest. He must know best, Rhys thought.

As Jack bundled Angel into a towel and guided her to the house, he looked around at the rest of them. “You kids should get going too, she’s done for the day.”

Rhys looked to his friends. They all shrugged to each other and began to pack themselves up, drying off and putting on t-shirts. Rhys checked over to the door to see if he could steal one last glance at Jack, but he and Angel were both gone, already retreated into the darkness of the house.

 

* * *

 Now

 

“You kids should get going, Angel has class in the morning and needs her rest,” Jack said as he stood to turn off the TV.

“Dad, it’s only eight--” Angel began, but all Jack had to do was look at her to squash any protest she had.  It had always bothered Rhys, the way Jack was so controlling when it came to his daughter, but at the end of the day Angel was sick, and it wasn’t any of Rhys’ business.

The whole group sighed as they got up from their comfortable positions, saying goodnight to Angel as she was sent upstairs and Jack herded them to the front door. Rhys lingered a few steps behind his friends, and, while they were distracted with putting on their shoes, felt a hand slide into his back pocket and grab his ass as Jack brushed by him to open the front door and usher them out a second later.

When Rhys got back to his dorm, when Vaughn had left to go use the bathroom and he was putting away his clothes from the day, he discovered that Jack hadn't just copped a feel, but slipped him a hundred dollar bill as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my gf for beta-ing! And thanks to all of you for reading! :) I hope the jumps are clear as to where in the timeline you are when reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting, it's been a busy month.  
> Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! <3

Then

 

Instead of opting to go backpacking across the globe like some of his peers, Rhys spent the first few months out of highschool going through--and recovering from--experimental surgery.

The program's outline and requirements had been simple, if not a bit extreme--really extreme. And honestly? Who could turn down the offer of tuition paid in full for their dream school? It was going to cost an arm and a leg regardless, why not make that somewhat literal?

That’s how Rhys reasoned it, anyways.

On the day of his surgery, Rhys, dressed down to a hospital gown, sat alone in a clean and sparse room as he waited for the nurses to come collect him. They had given him a sedative, but his knee still jiggled with anticipation as he scrolled through his phone, trying to think about it in the most clinical way possible. Not about how the surgery could go wrong; that he might never wake up; that this could be his last status update.

It was going to be fine, he promised himself; he had gone over the procedural notes probably a hundred times or more, the doctors knew what they were doing, this was their job, though there was always the risk of human error--

His spiral of worried thoughts were blessedly cut short by a knock at the door. It was time.

Though the rest of the day was lost in a blur of anesthesia, Rhys would remember the moments right before going under with stunning clarity: the nurses leading him down the brightly lit hall to a large white door and even brighter room--everything was so bright--where the surgeons went over some final prep, inserting needles and drawing lines in black marker where the incisions and amputation would be made, all while Ace of Bass played cheerily in the background over the room's radio.

“I want you to breathe deeply and count down from ten,” a nurse said as he strapped a mask over Rhys’ face.

 

Rhys didn’t even make it to eight.

 

* * *

 Now

 

Nothing ever happened at Jack's actual house, maybe out of respect for Angel, or fear; or maybe it would just make it all too real, give the situation actual, tangible consequences.

Things had been kept to quick fucks in the back seat of Jack's hatchback when he’d driven Rhys home, or slightly longer ones in Rhys’ dorm room provided Vaughn was out for the day. And it was late. And not many people were hanging around.

It was all pretty inconvenient. 

So Rhys figured Jack must finally be fed up with it when he got the text. He saw it coming, but it still made him momentarily forget to breathe.

 

The Grande Plaza

Room 6969

Tomorrow, 3PM

 

Now Rhys stood in front of an opulent building, its entrance adorned with highly detailed stone carvings, tall glass doors stretching up before him. Rhys tugged his hoodie further over his head with his flesh hand, making sure to keep the prosthetic one hidden away in his pocket. He did one last nervous scan of the area to make sure no one he knew was around, and entered.

The outside spoke for the inside, but it still hadn’t prepared him for the sheer grandeur of the place. The ceiling was high as a cathedral, its surface painted like a hyper-realistic sky. Corinthian pillars lined the walls, evenly spaced for statues and large flower displays in between, and everything seemed to be gold flaked.

Rhys’ paranoia followed him in as he walked through the lobby, only increasing as he realized how badly he stuck out. He hunched his shoulders higher, brought his head down lower, and made a beeline for the elevators. But with his head down and hurried pace he failed to see the attendant standing guard, running into his broad chest headlong.

Rhys staggered backwards, adjusting his hood from where it had slipped backwards before he dared to look up.

“Going somewhere?” the attendant asked.

 _Of course_ this place wouldn’t just let some nobody off the street waltz right in. Rhys silently cursed Jack for putting him in this embarrassing situation.

Rhys took a deep breath, doing his best to meet the man's eyes--though he didn’t look like he belonged here, he could at least do his damndest to act like it. “I’m here to see a guest? I’m a guest of a guest.”

The attendant quirked an eyebrow, obviously not buying it, “Room?” 

Rhys flushed at that, ducking his head and mumbling, “sixty nine sixty nine…”

He spared a quick glance up and was blessedly only met with a nod, the attendant moving aside to finally let him through.

When he finally got into an elevator he sagged against the wall in relief, steadying his nerves before tearing back his hood to get a good look at himself in on of the many mirrors. He looked pretty good today, he thought as he fixed his hair, pushing it back into place. The flush in his cheeks from earlier had mostly gone down, giving him what he hoped would just pass as a healthy glow. He smiled his winning smile at his reflection, winking, before it dissolved into a look of annoyance. He was going to give Jack hell, 

It was easy to know which room he was going to without even reading the numbers. Two large bodyguards stood at attention outside, nodding once to Rhys before letting him enter. At least that was easy. 

As the door clicked behind him Rhys’ let his eyes sweep over the room. The place was nice, _really_ nice, large and more modern in design than the rest of the hotel had been. Situated in the middle of the room on the plush king sized bed was Jack. He was lying in the middle of the mattress, shoes still on and one arm resting behind his head as he channel surfed with the other.

“I pay top frickin’ dollar for a place like this and they don’t even have recent releases, can you freakin’ believe this bullshit?” he groused, not even sparing Rhys an acknowledging glance.

Rhys sucked in a breath and puffed out his chest, did his best to make his presence seem big against the overwhelming one that was Jack’s. “Ja-”

He was stopped with a silencing finger. “Wait till commercials would ya?”

Rhys just stood there dumbly, mouth agape. Every time that Rhys thought Jack couldn’t possibly get ruder, he somehow managed to prove him wrong. Yet for some inexplicable reason Rhys still _listened_. 

It was a few more minutes before Jack finally turned his attention to Rhys. “Heya, pumpkin,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t been inconveniencing Rhys since the moment he entered the lobby, since _before_ that.

“‘Heya’ yourself.” Rhys shook his head, still incredibly annoyed at well, everything. “Room _sixty nine sixty nine_. _Really?_ ” 

Jack snickered. 

“Also very discreet of you, picking one of the fanciest hotels in the city to meet at, and-”

“Oooh, unbunch your panties, princess,” Jack interrupted with an exaggerated eyeroll and hand wave. “Sure, people here know who _I_ am, but no one within a square mile of this place will know who _you_ are,” he snorted at that, “so I pay the staff some hush money and we might as well have never been here. Besides, it isn’t _less_ discreet than your gross little dorm room.”

“My room isn’t gross,” Rhys grumbled as he began to remove his hoodie and shoes. 

“Yeah, it is.”

Rhys looked up to glare, and was met with Jack's eyes doing an appraising roam over his body, stopping when they reached his feet.

“Nice boots,” he said, his tone smug and with a smirk to match. “Who got em’ for you?” 

They _were_ nice boots. One hundred dollars nice, in fact. Like hell Rhys was going to spend _fuck money_ on responsible things like groceries or student loans. He deserved to treat himself.

Rhys met Jack's gaze, matching his smug look with one of his own as he toed the boots off. “I got them for myself,” he said cooly.

Jack's expression turned dark, his grin taking on an edge sharp enough to cut. “That so? Y’know, if I were you, and thank _god_ I’m not, I would brush up on a little thing called gratitude.”

He beckoned Rhys up onto the bed, cupping the back of his head and pulling it downwards towards his lap once Rhys was close enough. “You can start practicing now.”

Rhys huffed out a laugh, and complied without any more resistance.

  

* * *

Then

 

“ _Holy shit_ ” were the first words out of Vaugh's mouth upon entering Rhys’ bedroom.

“Oh come on,” Rhys glared, eyes becoming barely visible slits amongst all the swelling, “it’s not _that_ bad… is it?”

Vaughn looked on helplessly, while Yvette just shrugged. “I’d swipe left.”

“Ugh, at least lie to me! That’s the whole point of friends. To lie to you and make you feel better!”

“I don’t think that’s the point of friends,” Vaughn said, smiling sympathetically as he and Yvette came over to the bedside.

“Then why are you even here? Did you at least bring me flowers?”

“Okay, one, you’re allergic to flowers, and two, we’re here because we love you? And wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Even though you _chose_ this,” Yvette added. “You better cool it with the diva act or it is going to be a lonely few weeks of healing for you.”

Yvette and Vaughn, much like Rhys’ parents, had been less than enthusiastic about his venture into augment surgery (even though they had agreed that as a concept it seemed very cool). They hadn't been able to justify the risks of potential rejection--or worse--and causing them endless amounts of worry. But they had been there for him regardless, tentatively supportive of his decision, and here for him now. Rhys knew he should be grateful.

“Alright, alright,” Rhys said. “Thank you guys, for everything. I mean it,” he emphasized at their skeptical looks.

“Yeah well, _that’s_ what friends are for,” Vaughn said, tone exasperated but betrayed by his smile.

They sat like that for a little while, the three of them going over all the cool new possibilities that Rhys' augments could grant him, from hacking high scores to full on espionage (Rhys did look good in a black suit.)

Finally--and it took longer than Rhys thought it would--she came up.

“So,” Vaughn said between mouthfuls of the rice krispie treats that Rhys’ mom had brought up, “you talked to Angel yet?”

Rhys’ stomach dropped. He hadn’t spoken to Angel since graduation, and even there he’d been pretty awkward around her, unable to meet her eyes ever since prom. Almost immediately after that she was jet setting across Europe with Jack, and Rhys’ only points of contact with her became Snapchat and likes on Instagram. 

“We could try skyping her right now?” Vaughn suggested at Rhys’ silence. “Maybe even try out your new tech to do it.”

Vaughn moved to touch the prosthetic arm, but Rhys quickly retracted it, holding it close to his chest.

“Er...it’s not calibrated yet,” Rhys covered, then sighed. “Besides, I don’t want to worry her with the whole--” he gestured at his face. “It’d put a damper on her vacation.”

Yvette raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s surprisingly considerate of you.”

“I’m always considerate!”

Their banter was interrupted by a knock on Rhys’ door.

He had received a letter, the sender obvious by the the high-quality, bright-yellow envelope. With only one hand in commission, Rhys let Yvette use a manicured fingernail to cleanly slice the top of the envelope open, pulling out the contents and handing them to Rhys. Which he attempted, valiantly, through the puffiness around his eyes that obscured his vision, to read. Bringing the papers close to his face before moving them backwards.

After about half a minute of humoring him, Vaughn gently plucked the letter from his hand. “Let me get that for you, pal.”

Rhys pouted, but was too curious to put up a fuss as he let Vaughn read aloud. “Ahem. ‘To the order of one Mr. Rhys Summers-’ wow, fancy! ‘Congratulations! You have successfully completed your first step in the H.A.P (Hyperion Augment Program) and, pending any complications, you will begin the rehabilitation section starting two weeks from this date--’” Vaughn paused, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “They’re uh...really rushing you through this, huh?”

Rhys just shrugged, dismissive. “I have to be good to go by the start of the school year. Don’t make that face dude, I’ll be fine.” He flapped his hand, urging Vaughn to go on.

Vaughn sighed, resigning to the request and continuing, “‘In the upcoming weeks you will be filled in on the details regarding how you are to use your enhancements alongside your studies at Hyperion U, and the data you will be collecting. Included is your schedule for routine check-ups and maintenance, as well as further instructions on aftercare. Any questions you have should be directed towards your designated doctor. Once again, congratulations on earning this great opportunity, and welcome to the Hyperion fold! We look forward to working with you in September. Sincerely--’ Woah!”

“What?” Rhys raised his brows at Vaughn's sudden exclamation.

“It’s signed Jack Lehane. You think he knows about you?”

Rhys’ eyes widened--as much as they could in his condition, anyway--at the name, before the reality of it softened the shock. “Nah, he probably pre-signs a bunch of those without even seeing who they’re for.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Vaughn agreed as he refolded the papers, stuffing them back into their envelope and handing it back to Rhys.

Rhys accepted with his flesh hand, bringing the package down to his lap as he turned it over thoughtfully, feeling the weight of it. The situation hadn’t really sunk in yet, of the life changing decision he had just made and all that would come with it. Even this letter, evidence outside his own scope of what he’d done, didn’t quite feel real.

“So,” he said, breaking out into a cheeky smile, “what do you guys think about a tattoo?”

 

* * *

 Now

 

Rhys only took his arm off for three things, if he could help it: clinical check-ups, water, and to recharge, and with his portable charging device the latter hardly counted. He even slept with it on most of the time.

But then there was Jack.

Sometimes Jack would have him remove his prosthetic before they got to business, was even somewhat courteous about it the first time he asked in the wake of Rhys’ hesitation. It was a power thing, Rhys knew. Knew because being without his arm made him feel unsafe and exposed; knew that giving it up meant putting his trust in Jack--and what greater power is there then someone's faith in your hands? Knew that he liked the way that made him feel, how giving himself up was as exhilarating as it was comforting. Knew Jack knew all this.

He lay prone on his back as Jack worked, one of his large hands pushing Rhys’ leg up and back towards his chest as his fingers eased in and out of him. Jacks prep was always thorough but completely perfunctory, a means to an end.

He was two knuckles deep when he began to add the third, ring finger nudging past tight flesh, and Rhys couldn’t suppress the whine of discomfort, clawing at the bedsheets only to be hit with the unnerving sensation of only one hand registering the command.

Jack stopped his ministrations, fingers stilling for the moment. “You, ah, hanging on up there, pumpkin?” he asked, his choice of words comically fitting.

Rhys took a second to breath, centering himself and easing the discomfort. Jack graciously allowed it, though he drummed his fingers along Rhys’ thigh with impatience.

With one more deep breath Rhys nodded firmly. “Yeah it’s--you can keep going.”

“ _Finally_ ,” Jack groused as if the inconvenience had been deep-- despite being less than a minute extra of his time--and he pulled his fingers free, fully settling over Rhys.

The cut-short prep meant things were tighter than usual going in, and Rhys breathed through that, too. He took deep pulls through his nose, wincing as Jack pushed without pausing to let him adjust. He had used up Jack's patience resources for the day, apparently.

“Theeeere it is, that’s the ticket,” Jack groaned as he bottomed out, voice taking on a rough edge. “God you feel good today. Should try this less work for me, more freakouts or whatever from you route more often.”

Rhys only responded with a scowl, making Jack chuckle as he began to move in earnest.

 

* * *

 

They were really getting into the thick of it: Rhys’ skin hot and sticky, bucking his hips up to meet every thrust, Jack dripping sweat above him, one arm beside Rhys’ head as the other continued to grip his thigh, keeping it up and open, his pace unrelenting. His breath was hot beside Rhys’ ear as he murmured platitudes that could be meant for anyone, lost in himself as he always got when they were like this.

Just as Rhys was thinking about how thankful he was that they were lying on sheets with a six hundred thread count, sparing his skin from another undeserved rug burn, there was a burst of electronic sound followed loud vibrations. Jack and Rhys’ heads simultaneously snapped towards the source of the noise.

It was just Jack's phone going off, a minor interruption that would be ignored until the ringtone cut off and transferred the caller to voicemail. But Jack _didn’t_ ignore it, instead reaching over to the bedside table to snatch the device, flashing Rhys a wicked grin and a wink before picking up.

“Y’ello?” he answered with complete casualness, as if he wasn’t balls deep in Rhys’ ass right now.

Rhys went completely rigid, staring up at Jack in utter disbelief. He was _not_ doing this, he _couldn’t_ be doing this.

“Oh hey, sweetie,” Jack said brightly, and Rhys didn’t need to hear a name to know who was on the other line. He immediately started panicking, the disbelief transforming into abject horror as his body caught up with his brain and he struggled beneath Jack to get free, to _get away_ from this moment. He had never been so mortified in his _life_. A strong hand came down to press on the center of his chest, stilling him as Jack continued talking. “Never too busy for my baby girl, what can I do you for?”

The situation couldn’t possibly get worse, Rhys thought. Until it did. Until Jack, meeting Rhys’ gaze brought a finger up to his lips, his smirk clear behind it, and began to move again in harsh, rhythmic thrusts. 

The breath Rhys sucked in was so sharp it burned, and he had to use all his willpower to not shout, biting the back of his hand to stifle any noise he might make. The conversation continued above him, remaining light in tone with no indication about what was going on this side of the call. Unless he slipped up and made it that way. He bit into his flesh harder.

“Uh huh…. uh huh, yeah, I’ll see you at dinner--ah,” Jack glanced down at Rhys, doing a once-over, and his grin widened, somehow becoming even _more_ sinister. “You bringing anyone over tonight? What about Rhysie? Haven’t seen that human sized stick bug in a while.”

Alright.

Jack had had his fun and things had reached their peak. Rhys tore his hand away from his mouth, sucking in air between clenched teeth as he thrashed around, clawing at Jack's torso with his only hand, but Jack just bat him away with a roll of his eyes, punctuating his annoyance with a particularly hard thrust and causing Rhys to finally lose control as it elicited a loud cry from him.

“What? Oh, nah it’s nothing. Just another one of these overgrown babies crying for my attention, you know how it is. Aaaanyways, I’m gonna let you go, kiddo, got places to be, people to fire--I’m joking, _joking_. Oh, and remember, don’t take your medication without me there. Alright, see you at home. Love you.”

At this point Rhys was absolutely livid. Sure, Jack had teased and bullied him in the past, taking his usually immature, often cruel jokes right to the edge, but this was going about a hundred steps too far. Once Rhys was certain Jack had hung up he went off, letting loose all the angry tension that had been building since Jack answered the phone.

“YOU ASSHOLE YOU ASSHOLE YOU AAAaaahhhnnn--”

Jack wouldn’t even let him have this, his well deserved rant lost in a desperate moan as Jack circled a hand around his dick and pumped with tight, intent strokes. “Ohohohohoho--you should see your face right now, pumpkin, it is pure comedy _gold_. 

It was playing dirty, and Rhys turned his head away in frustration, seething as he whined through his clenched teeth, writhing and helpless.

“In fact…” Jack continued, looking at the phone still in his hand thoughtfully, and laughing again when Rhys tried to lunge upward at him. He tossed the device to the side as he pitched forward to press down heavily over Rhys’ heaving body. “Aw sweetheart, you make it too easy,” he cooed.

“Asshole,” Rhys said again, but this time with a lot less force behind it.

Jack brought his mouth to Rhys’ ear, his voice dipping an octave lower in the way it always did when he wanted to mold Rhys to his will. “C’mon, Rhysie, don’t be like that.” His hand stroked up and down the expanse of Rhys’ torso, making him shiver and arch into the touch. “I’ll even buy you some nice threads to match those boots, whaddya say? We good?”

The anger flooded back all at once, Rhys’ face contorting in indignation as he practically squawked, “No! We are not _good--_ ”

Jack was pulling back again, his laughter returning louder than ever as he grinned down at Rhys, bright and dangerous. Faster than he could fight it, Rhys was being flipped, yelping when Jack smacked his ass, and any protests he had dissolving into a drawn out groan as Jack pushed back in in one single, fluid motion.

Rhys breathed deeply, tasting warm cotton as Jack bared down on him once more. “Yeah,” he said into the junction of Rhys's neck. “We’re good.”

 

* * *

Then

 

When it came to Angel’s mother, Rhys learned through error that she was a taboo subject.

He had come over after school, laptop in tow, ready to show Jack the programming project he’d been spending his time on instead of studying for exams. Ever since he had learned Jack was president of _the_ Hyperion, Rhys had wanted to talk shop with him, to get feedback on his current work. In his wildest dreams Jack would even take Rhys under his wing and become a kind of mentor. But with a... demeanor like Jack’s, approachability was not something that came easily.

“You may as well try,” Angel had said when Rhys brought his dilemma to her. “At worst, he’ll just scoff at you.”

Rhys groaned, resting his head against the cool metal of his locker. “That  _is_ the worst.”

“No, it isn’t.” Angel's tone was soft, but she was smiling wryly.

He had noticed that that happened often, when it came to the subject of Jack. The conversation would be normal, then take a sudden turn towards the melancholy. There was an underlayer of bitterness that Rhys wasn’t sure he wanted to know the details of, so he spoke to the part of Angel that played it all off as a joke instead.

“I came to you for encouragement, this is the opposite of encouraging,” he said, turning his head towards her and giving the most exaggerated puppy eyes he could manage. 

Her smile turned warm at that. “Okay, okay. You can do it, go you!”

“Wow, you are a real natural at pep talking,” Rhys said, pushing off the locker door. “You sure you don’t want to try out for the cheer squad?”

Angel blew a loud breath out through her lips, waving away Rhys’ suggestion in a manner that reminded Rhys of her father. Whatever weird tension there was between them, there was no denying the inherited traits.

“The best suggestion I can give is to come over tomorrow and bring something you’ve been working on. Jack is usually less busy on Fridays, but I can’t promise he’ll have time for you.”

Rhys’ smile widened, true and genuine and a little guilty for the trouble he had caused her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, really,” she said, her tone somber again, but before Rhys could ask, _if he wanted to ask_ , the bell was ringing and they were being ushered off to class. In the end Rhys just shrugged it off, too focused on what he could show Jack to impress him.

Rhys now stood outside the dark oak door to Jack's office, steeling himself as he worked up his nerve. The worst that could happen right now was that no one would answer, and Rhys could take that. So he straightened up, squared his shoulders, and knocked.

There was a pause, long enough that Rhys was about to turn away, when a response finally came from inside.

“What is it?” Jack called, he sounded annoyed, but then again, when did he not? Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

“Uh--I can come back later.” Rhys answered.

Another pause.

“Nah, come in.” 

Jack's tone had softened, easing Rhys’ reluctance as he pushed past the door.

Inside, Jack was seated behind his desk, feet propped up on the glass surface and phone in hand. “What? No, I wasn’t talking to you, why the hell would I say that to you, idiot?”

He ushered Rhys in with a wave of his hand, motioning for him to take a seat as he continued to berate the poor sap on the other line. “Look this isn’t--it’s not frickin’ rocket science. If you can’t figure it out, the I’ll bring in a guy who _can_ , and then what’ll I need you for?”

Jack glanced over at Rhys, who now sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, and gave him an exaggerated eye roll, pantomiming talking with his other hand. Rhys had to stifle a nervous laugh.

As Jack continued his tongue-lashing, Rhys took a moment to look around, he had never been in Jack’s home office before, the door always shut and locked. Unlike most of the Lehane household, Jack's office actually looked like time was spent in it, hinting at Jack's true character underneath the glossy chrome exterior. The room, like all the others, was large, but the clutter and warm wood tones made it seem almost cozy. To Rhys’ right, there was a drafting table, papers strewn about it in no distinguishable order; some looked like they were even yellowing from age. The wall adjacent had a dartboard with photos of people Rhys didn’t know taped to it, their faces punctured countless times.

In the middle of it all was Jack, lounged at his desk with multiple monitors in front of him, down to only his dress shirt and, Rhys noticed, wearing a pair of reading glasses that were absent at all other times. It was unfair how Jack could look this good, even in his off hours.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I _thought_. On my desk at 7 tomorrow or I’ll pull your intestines out yer ass and strangle you with ‘em till your eyes pop like a virgin’s cherry-- nah, I’m just kidding, I will fire you though. Toodles!”

Rhys put on an apologetic smile despite how massively intimidated her currently felt in the wake of Jack’s wrath. “Hard day at the office?” he asked, pushing past his weird combination of anxiety and arousal.

“Always is. You know how these corporate dumbshits are, can’t wipe their own asses without step-by-step instructions, usually from me.”

Rhys didn’t have a clue, but nodded along despite that.

Jack pushed back from desk, feet coming down as his chair glided on its wheels and he resituated himself. “But you didn’t come to hear me smack talk useless employees, didjya?”

Rhys shrugged. “It’s was kind of entertaining...if I don’t think about it too hard.”

That earned him an appraising smirk and his chest tightened a bit, not helping  the whole arousal thing.

“So.” Jack stretched his arms above him, causing his joints to make an audible popping noise before resting them behind his head. “What can good ol’ Jack do for you?”

Rhys thumbed the laptop in his hands. He should have planned a demonstration speech or something, because he didn’t really know where to start, how to ask Jack, of all people, to look at his dinky little project when the man had spearheaded some of the world's current top technology.

“C’mon, cupcake, I don’t got all day.” Jack was leaning back, watching him over the rim of his glasses.

Rhys started and stopped several times (“I--It’s--I’ve got--”) before he abandoned words all together and opted to just thrust the laptop towards Jack.

Jack raised a brow. “What? You want me to fix your computer? Sweetheart, I pay people for that kind of grunt work, I don’t _do it._ ”

“What? No it’s--it’s what’s on the computer,” Rhys said. “Could you, uh, can I show you something?”

Jack's eyebrow climbed further up his forehead (somehow) and Rhys took that as his cue, getting up and moving around the desk to stand beside him, passing the laptop into his waiting hand.

“This better not just be your porn collection,” Jack said as he cracked it open, the screen lighting up as it came to life. “Can’t imagine you having very good taste.”

Rhys blushed and coughed in embarrassment. He was starting to get used to Jack's R-rated sense of humor, but it still caught him off guard most of the time. “It’s not,” he finally managed after some indignent  stuttering.

“We’ll see.”

As Jack scrolled through documents, making the occasional grunt of affirmation, Rhys tried to distract himself from the hurricane happening inside his ribcage, letting his eyes wander over the contents of the desk. For the most part it was just more loose papers, plus a weirdly-shaped paper weight; there were sticky notes with indecipherable messages tacked to the screens that stretched across the expanse of hardwood.

It was what was at the far corner that really caught Rhys’ attention. Tucked against the lip of the wood sat three small frames, all but one dusty with neglect.

The first housed a picture of a much younger Angel, probably no older than eight. It was a portrait shot, her smile like sunlight as she gave a peace sign to the cameraman, and Rhys realized with a pang of sadness how _healthy_ she looked here, her skin rosy, eyes clear and bright without dark circles beneath them, a child free of her present self's burdens.

The second photo was more recent, Angel sitting and looking more like what he was used to. She was smiling in this one too, but it didn’t meet her eyes. Jack stood behind her, the ever proud father, one hand on her shoulder as he smirked triumphantly at the camera. It reminded Rhys less of a family portrait and more of one of those trophy photos fishermen took after a big catch, displaying their prize to the viewer.

The third and final picture was of Jack. Just of Jack, signed from Jack. _Really?_

Rhys couldn’t help but notice there were no images of women, one with features similar to Angel or otherwise. In the half-year or so of knowing her, Rhys had never really breached the subject; it wasn’t as if the single parent concept was an unusual one, and even though he’d been curious it simply hadn’t come up. In hindsight, the fact that no one talked about it should have been a warning on its own.

“This all your work?” Jack asked, interrupting Rhys’ thoughts, his eyes still trained on the laptop's screen.

“Yeah.”

Jack hummed contemplatively, continuing to scroll.

Rhys didn’t know why he did it, what gave him the nerve in that moment, but as he watched Jack work he leaned an elbow against the desk, propping his head up on his hand and coyly asking, “so, is there a _Missus Lehane_?”

Jack stilled, all his features darkening at once, his entire demeanour changing. It was like crossing under an overpass on a sunny day.

“Get out,” Jack said, closing the computer and shoving it into Rhys’s chest.

Rhys was completely taken aback. Whatever reaction he had been expecting, it wasn’t anything this extreme.

“Huh?” was all he could manage through the confusion.

“Get. Out.” Jack said, much louder this time, pushing the laptop into Rhys’ solar plexus hard enough to hurt. “Before I break this goddamn thing.”

With shaky hands Rhys took the laptop back, hugging it to his chest, shrinking in the wake of Jack's unexplained anger. “Jack, I’m--I’m sorry, I--”

“Don’t make me say it a third time, Rhys.”

It was the use of his real name that did it, had Rhys tripping over his feet in his haste to get out of there and down the stairs, taking two at a time.

Angel caught him before he reached the front door, and he gave her a brief rundown of what had just happened, leaving out of course the part where he basically hit on her own dad. In the end all he really had to do was mention Angels’ mother for her to understand where he’d gone wrong.

It was going to be okay, she promised. Jack would cool down, just give him some time. No one ever talked about her mom, it wasn’t something that was allowed to be discussed even between the two of them.

“She’s less than a ghost,” she had said, quietly.

When Rhys had finally settled down (though internally he continued to kick himself) and moved to go home, Angel gave him a longer hug than usual.

For some reason it felt like solidarity.

 

* * *

 Now

 

The TV made noises of broken chatter as the channels were flipped, conversations stringing together into nonsensical dialogue. Rhys nuzzled his face into the side of Jack's ribs, sighing with satisfaction as he threaded his fingers through the hair on Jack's chest. He could feel Jack exhale, blowing smoke towards the ceiling as he enjoyed his usual post coitus cigarette.

“Look at you,” Jack said above him, voice thick with arrogance, “You a happy kitten?”

Rhys’ reply was only a content hum and Jack breathed a silent laugh, a hand coming up to card through Rhys' hair before the other came over to flick ash on his bare skin. All Rhys did was flinch in annoyance, though, too thoroughly fucked to even attempt retaliation. The hand in his hair stroked harder. 

He was just drifting off to sleep when his phone began to chime. 

“You gonna get that?” Jack asked.

With effort, Rhys cracked his left eye open and synched up with his phone. The Bluetooth connected after a second, causing ‘ANGEL’ to flash across his vision, accusatory as ever, but in his current stupor Rhys didn’t have the energy to feel the usual guilt. Instead, he blinked her name away and buried further into Jack's side.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Then

 

“Are you sure you two are gonna be okay on your own? Rhys barely knows how to make cup noodles without setting them on fire.”

Rhys shot Yvette a glare over his shoulder.

It was the end of August, and their final days of freedom were coming to an end. The last precious week was for shopping for supplies, trying to remember all the information forgotten over the break, and, in Rhys and Vaughns’ case, moving into their dormitory.

The two of them and Yvette were unpacking multiple boxes from her car, large, loosely-written labels on the majority of them. Some had been forgotten and left blank, though, so that would be fun.

“That only happened once, and it was spaghetti,” Rhys said as he sorted through the boxes left in the backseat, settling on one of the lighter ones to carry.

“That’s what the meal cards are for,” Vaughn said as Rhys passed the box on to him, frowning as he gauged its weight. “C’mon man, I know you can lift more than this. You have a friggin' robo arm!”

“The doctor said not to put too much strain on it,” Rhys said, putting up his hands in defence. “Hey, her words, not mine.”

With an eyeroll, Vaughn took Rhys’ box and lifted three other, much heavier boxes before carrying the stack towards the dorm's entrance. Rhys hadn’t been the only one to reinvent himself over the summer; Vaughn had taken up body building (or something--he had said it was just cycling, but you didn’t get results like _that_ from a spin class) gaining a killer set of abs and then some. Rhys was impressed, and admittedly a little jealous--a summer of ninety percent bed had made him even more of a waif than before the surgery.

He had been sifting through the remaining boxes when he heard it, his entire body freezing up.  
He would recognize that voice _anywhere._

“ _Christ_ is it hot,” came Jack's voice from somewhere nearby.

He hadn’t seen the man all summer, hadn’t even really seen _Angel_. In the end he couldn’t avoid her forever; doing so would lead to suspicion, which would lead to questions he would never be ready to answer. He bit the bullet once she had returned from her trip, skyping in to catch up. He'd profusely apologised for not telling her sooner about the surgery, and then pretended he couldn’t feel the guilt that welled up inside his chest at her crestfallen face. He didn’t know why it had made her so sad--he was fine, and everything had been done through her own father's company, but he didn’t want to dwell on it too much either.

Rhys crawled further into the confines of the car, listening carefully as Angel's voice joined Jack's. “Sorry we’re late!” she called from nearby. “He insisted on coming along.”

“It’s no problem,” Yvette replied before turning her attention to Rhys, ducking inside the car and pulling at his leg, a signal that he should emerge to greet the cavalry with her.

Not a second before he had crawled out of the back seat he was met with thin arms around his waist and a smile he’d sorely missed. Forgetting about Jack for a moment, he returned the hug.

“You’ve really changed,” Angel said as she pulled back, “Not just the whole--” she motioned at his arm, “--something else. More mature, I think.”

“The good mature or the bad mature? I don’t want to look old.”

It was nice, Rhys thought, being able to casually laugh with Angel like this again, like before he had made huge mistakes. She was looking better than usual, still skin and bones, still ghostly pale, but now had a rare glow about her. The vacation must have done her some good.

It was nice, until a loud and obvious cough broke the moment.

Jack's hand came down on her shoulder, moving her to the side as he came into Rhys' space, whistling low as his eyes raked over Rhys’s body. “ _Someone’s_ been busy this summer.”

Rhys preened at Jack's acknowledgement, angling his body to give him a better view of the arm, with its yellow accents and the stylized H in the corner of the shoulder plate.

Yvette had gone ahead to join Vaughn, so it was only Rhys who got to witness it: how Jack's hand tightened on Angel's shoulder, and her wince of discomfort. “Didn’t know you were one of the scholarship candidates. _Surprised_ that kind of information didn’t get to me.”

The sudden tension that set around the three of them was so thick Rhys could feel it in the air, cloying and heavy, until Angel finally shifted out of Jack's grip. “It’s really good to see you, Rhys,” was all she said as she quickly brushed past him to catch up with the others. Then it was just him and Jack.

Jack shook his head as the two watched her go. "I tell her to keep me up-to-date on these kind of things, y’know? I’m the one who should be annoyed.” Jack sighed. “Daughters, am I right, Rhysie?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t know,” Rhys said, unable to shake the feeling that he had just chosen a side in a fight.

“Of course you wouldn’t, now let me take a look at you.”

Rhys could worry about alignments later, because right now Jack was crowding him against the car, hand coming up to grab Rhys face and turn it to the side, leaning in to observe the work on his eye and temple.

“Daaahmn, pumpkin, you really went for the whole shebang, huh?” Jack mused as he pulled at the skin below Rhys’s eyeball. He was uncomfortably close at this point, and Rhys didn’t know if he was enjoying or embarrassed by the attention. Maybe a mix of both.

Rhys watched as Jack let go of his face, taking his arm up for assessment instead. He turned it in his hands, rotating the movable parts on the forearm and bending the joints of the fingers. “Yep, they did a bang-up job with you,” he continued, letting go and finally taking a step back, giving Rhys some room. Rhys let go of a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Gotta say, Rhysie, you’ve got some pr-eet-y big cojones to go through with this. Was not expecting that,” Jack said, and there was no stopping _that_ from going to Rhys’ head as he practically sparkled from the praise.

Jack did another sweep of his body, something dark flickering across his features, “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

If Rhys didn’t know better, he’d think Jack was alluding to more than just his choice in risky programs--possibly hinting at topics Rhys was too nervous to broach--but that was wishful thinking. Realistically, Jack either didn’t actually remember what had happened, given the state he was in, or had made the decision to forget. There was no point in suspecting double meaning in his words.

With a wink, Jack was pushing Rhys aside to get to the contents of the car, loading his arms with a couple of boxes. “Could be payin’ someone to do this,” he grumbled as he headed indoors.

As soon as he was through the doors, Rhys collapsed onto the back seat, trying to reorder his thoughts and heart and, goddammit, his dick. He gave himself a good moment to compose, running his hands through his hair a few times as he calmed down. Once he was sure his heart wasn’t going to explode out of his chest, he checked the remaining boxes, feeling each one for their weight. He cursed when he realized Jack had taken the last light ones.

 

* * *

 

They were half-done unpacking when Angel invited them over to dinner. It was almost six, and couldn’t they finish later? It had been ages.

Yvette politely declined, having to get home early, but Vaughn was in, and Rhys, not wanting to disappoint Angel again so soon, reluctantly agreed to come along too.

In his few months away from it the Lehane estate had barely changed, still pristine as a showroom. The only significant addition was that Angel's high school diploma was now on display, though for some reason it had been hung among Jack's wall of accomplishments.

Almost as soon as they’d arrived, Jack had excused himself to his office while the three of them had piled downstairs into the rec room, bags of take-out in hand. As they turned on the TV and spread blankets over the floor, Rhys felt a warm rush of nostalgia run through him. He’d _missed this._ Not just Angel, but the comfortable familiarity that came with close friendship. In this moment there was no place he’d rather be than here.

 

* * *

 

  
Now

  
Evidence of Jack's presence was becoming harder to hide.

Rhys cursed to himself as he power-walked through the campus, cutting across the courtyard and disrupting an outdoor lesson. He was late to meet his friends, _again,_ because Jack had insisted they try something new today. Typically, it all had gone awry, and Rhys ended up needing to head back to his dorm first to change into long sleeves despite the warm weather.

When Rhys finally arrived at the Starbucks, plunking down at Yvette and Vaughn's table, he was out of breath and sweaty.

“You’re late, and why the hell are you dressed like that?” Yvette asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Does a man not have the right to choose what clothes he wears?”

“A man can wear whatever he wants, but it won’t make him less of a fashion disaster.”

Rhys was agitated enough as it was, and looked to Vaughn for back-up, giving his best “can you believe the way she’s talking to me, bro?” look.

“I don’t care what you wear, or how sweaty it makes you, but you have got to get your internal clock checked, dude,” Vaughn said, not too sympathetic.

He really should have felt worse than he did--and don’t get it wrong, he _did_ feel bad--but going overtime with Jack was becoming a bad habit that was only getting worse.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry guys, really. I just get absorbed in the work, you know how it is,” Rhys said, placing his palms on the table and leaning forward just a bit, doing his best to look vulnerable and gain some sympathy.

“I...guess?” Vaughn said.

Rhys inwardly sighed with relief, thankful his vague excuse had once again been met with acceptance, but he was walking on thin ice here. He had to be more careful.

“So, coffee on me and all’s forgiven?”

“Oh, it’ll take more than coffee,” Yvette said, getting out of her seat and dragging Rhys up with her. “I want the most expensive thing on the menu.”

Rhys smiled and followed along, pausing to better hide the rope marks beneath his sleevs

 

* * *

 

Then

 

In the end Rhys and Vaughn ended up sleeping over, bunking with Angel on the large air mattress in the basement. Despite there being a perfectly good guest bedroom, the three of them had decided it would be way more fun to set up in front of the TV, smooshed together on the mattress as they marathoned horror movies and flung popcorn at each other.

Vaughn had been the first to pass out, not even making it through the first flick before he began to snore (Rhys held his nose until he stopped-- _that_ was going to be an issue as roommates). Then Angel nodded off during the third, and once that was over Rhys decided it was time he try to get some shut-eye too.

After 20 minutes of tossing and turning, Rhys gave up on the possibility of sleep, carefully untangling himself from his friends' limbs and padding upstairs.

He had been rummaging through the fridge when Jack's voice came out of nowhere, catching him off guard and making him jump.

“Can’t sleep, pumpkin?" Jack was seated in the living room which was adjacent to the kitchen, only separated by the breakfast bar. He was sitting back in one of the plush leather chairs, in the dark, alone, whiskey tumbler in one hand.

“Well I’m wide awake _now,_ ” Rhys said, putting a hand up to his heart to feel how quickly it was beating. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Jack smoothed his hands over his legs as he rose from his spot and began to make his way over to Rhys. “Who’s sneaking? You’re the one tiptoeing around _my_ kitchen.”

“I--” Rhys didn’t really have a comeback to that, so he went for another angle. “What are _you_ doing sitting alone in the dark like some sort of villain?”

Jack snorted. “Same problem as you, sweetheart. Scooch.” Rhys stepped aside as Jack reached for the shelf above him, pulling down a glass like his own. They were close, Jack's shirt brushing against his arm, enough that Rhys could feel the heat of him, smell the spice in his cologne. Rhys sucked in a breath.

The moment was short-lived, Jack having what he needed and moving over to the wet bar, while Rhys lingered on the residual feeling of his warmth.

“Here,” Jack pulled him out of his thoughts, pressing the now full glass just under his nose, flooding his senses with the sharp smell of alcohol. “This is what us big boys call a nightcap. Go on.” Rhys made a face; he didn’t particularly enjoy the taste or smell of whiskey, but, not wanting to seem immature in front of Jack, accepted the drink without protest. He felt sixteen again.

The cool act fell away at the first sip though, Rhys coughing harshly as the alcohol burned his throat, taste as bad as he remembered it. Jack just laughed, slapping him on the back a couple times before making his way back to the living room. “Shoulda known you were the cooler type, kiddo.”

As Jack resettled in his seat, Rhys remained stock-still in the kitchen, staring at the drink clutched in his hand, willing himself to turn back time five minutes and do things better.

“Quit moping and get over here,” Jack called over, “and bring the drink, don’t want it going to waste on someone who can’t even enjoy it.”

Rhys, despite the humiliation, suddenly felt as though Jack was challenging him. Spurred on by his taunting and determined to prove Jack wrong over whatever it is he thought he was right about, Rhys complied and came over to him. He stopped right in front of where Jack sat, glass in hand, and as Jack looked up at him took a large swig.

Jack raised one, then both eyebrows as Rhys downed the whole drink, gasping as he finished off. It took him a second to catch his breath. “Coolers, huh?” Rhys smiled down, smug and defiant.

For a moment they just stayed like that. Then a smirk began to slowly form across Jack's face, eyes narrowing as he studied Rhys. He was impressed, Rhys hoped, or at least amused at Rhys’ boldness...or stupidity.

“Well. You certainly showed me, huh sweetheart?” And even if his tone was kinda patronizing, Rhys took it as a win.

The drink was starting to hit him now, a comfortable warmth starting in his gut and slowly spreading outward, up to his head and down to his groin, weakening his barrier against bad ideas and giving them way. His friends were asleep, they were alone, and the whiskey had given him just enough liquid courage to make his move without getting anxious over the repercussions, even if those were flat out rejection.

Rhys began by leaning forward, reaching over to set the glass on the table beside Jack as he rested a knee between his legs. Jack just followed him with his eyes, until Rhys sat back a bit to look directly at him.

But Jack just waited, sat there and stared back. He wasn’t objecting, though, maybe wanted to see what Rhys would do. Rhys responded to that by placing his hands on Jack's shoulders, starting at the junction of his neck and smoothing them down to his biceps, breath coming out shaky as he exhaled. Jack's face remained unreadable. _Say something, dammit!_ he thought, but didn’t know if the command was meant for him or Jack.

It was Jack who spoke up first. “Kiddo--”

“Don’t. Don’t call me a kid.”

Jack's lip curved a little at that, and he reached forward to rest his hand on Rhys’ waist, squeezing gently to settle him. “You do this, pumpkin, and there’s no going back. I won’t just ignore it like last time.”

Almost more than having his advances accepted, Rhys was relieved that Jack did, in fact, remember what had happened, and using that as motivation, began to lean forward and--

Was met with the palm of Jack's hand over his mouth to create a barrier between them.

“What are you, stupid? Forgotten where we are?”

But--his friends were asleep, they were alone, and--and alright, Rhys had let the moment get away from him, and knew now wasn’t the time, even though his dick was saying otherwise.

“Go drink some water and go to bed,” Jack said as he pushed Rhys backwards till he was standing again. “Oh, and you might wanna take care of that, too.” He chuckled as his eyes did a quick sweep below Rhys’ waist.

Rhys flushed all over, abruptly turning and walking back towards the basement stairs at as fast a pace as he could keep quiet.

“See you in the morning, kiddo!” Jack called after him as he went.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my gf for being such a wonderful beta! And to all of you for reading, kudosing and commenting, really, it makes my day!


	5. Chapter 5

Then

 

“You should have a party,” Yvette had said, causing everyone's heads to swivel in her direction.

The news that Jack would be away for Halloween had come during their lunch break, to the surprise of everyone present, especially Angel. There had been some last minute business call he had to take, and would be gone overnight.

The thing was, Jack _never_ left, not without her travelling right along with him. It had happened several times in the couple years Rhys had known her already, and each time he had taken Angel with him, missed classes be damned.

So it was really out of nowhere that this would be happening _now_ , but what’s the saying? Don’t look a gift in the something. Either way, Rhys was in, nodding along.

Angel had gone completely bug-eyed with both fear and revelation. Rhys was sure the thought had never even crossed her mind.

“I can’t do that!” she hissed, conspiratorial, as if Jack was somehow listening nearby. “Jack would never allow it.”

“Well yeah, obviously,” Rhys said, “that’s why you don’t tell him.”

If Angel's eyes could have gone any wider, they’d have fallen out her head. “I _can’t,_ I’m supposed to be staying at Yvette's.”

“And I can tell my parents we’re staying at Rhys’s, who can tell his parents we’re staying at Vaughn's, whose older sister can cover for us cause she’s cool like that,” said Yvette, pointing at each of them in turn. “We can cover this, easy.”

Rhys could see the whole idea was making Angel more than a little uncomfortable (try a step or two away from a panic attack) as she sat staring down at her hands and worrying them together. But on the other hand--a Halloween party at _that_ house? They’d make sure she didn’t get found out.

So he put a reassuring hand on hers, and giving her his most confident, charming smile, said, “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

A promise like that was easy to make. 

* * *

 

 Now

 

Rhys shook the piece of paper between two fingers in front of Angel's face, creased and crumpled at the edges from the time spent in his pocket. It was a flier, crudely drawn, with blocky, photocopied letters announcing the ‘KEGGATRON 9000 PARTY BLOW OUT SMASH!!! THIS WEEKEND!!!!!!!’

“Eh? Eeeeh?” Rhys wiggled his eyebrows.

Angel sighed, finally taking the paper from him for closer inspection. “They couldn’t have gotten someone from the arts department to do this?”

“It gets the basic point across. So, you in?”

It was a warm spring evening, and the gang, sure she would turn down the idea unless they asked in person, had dutifully made their way over to Angel's house to convince her to come out for the night. Up until now, she had denied all party invitations, so Rhys had decided to make it his personal mission to at least get her to one during the break. He could only let her waste her youth for so long.

“You know Jack would never allow it,” was all she said.

“Aw, come on, you at least have to ask,” Rhys tried. “This is a _spring break_ party. Way more fun and important than _regular_ parties!”

“Yeah, it’s practically a coming of age kind of deal,” Vaughn added. “Like a bar mitzvah.”

Angel just shrugged, her expression one sympathetic to their efforts but at a loss. It always came down to this, to what Jack would allow or what Jack wanted, and Rhys hated it.

“Lay off, you two,” Yvette said, “Maybe she doesn’t even want to go to this thing, you don’t know.”

Rhys glanced over at Yvette, momentarily annoyed, but when she gave him a small smirk he was quick to catch on to what she was doing.

“You’re probably right,” Rhys said as he made an exaggerated turn to leave. “Let's get going, she probably has better, more responsible things to do.”

“Stop it, I know what you’re doing,” Angel's tone was clipped, and she narrowed her eyes at Rhys as he turned back to face her, “and Jack does it better.”

Rhys's smugness immediately fell away. He had meant touch a nerve, but not badly enough to be compared to _Jack._ The look on Rhys’s face must have been telling, though, because Angel stopped him with a hand before he could begin to apologize.

She sighed. “Okay, I’ll... ask. But don’t expect anything. I mean it,” she added, as the trio swelled with excitement.

It would be good, Rhys thought, for Angel to rebel a bit more against Jack, to push back. He would know.

“Can’t hurt to try.” He beamed at her, but the look she gave him back said otherwise, and his smile faltered.

 

* * *

 

Then

 

Things were scheduled to start around eight, but the three of them showed up at Angel’s around five to help her prepare. After Jack had dropped her off at Yvette's that morning, plans had been put into motion, and a communication chain had been created, convincing each parent that the everyone was at each other's places for the night.

Rhys was setting out bowls for candy and chips when Angel re-appeared downstairs after leaving to change into costume, floating into the kitchen as if the wings strapped to her back were real.

“That’s... very on point,” Vaughn said, pointing at the feather-covered cardboard.

Angel smiled. “It’s what I am every year.”

 _They had just never seen her,_ Rhys realized. Off at their own events that Jack hadn’t allowed her to be a part of. The thought made Rhys upset at both Jack and himself.

“Where’s _your_ costume?” she asked, looking his outfit up and down with a scrutinizing gaze.

Rhys leaned forward, baring his teeth to give her a full view of the shiny pointed caps clipped onto his incisors.

Yvette rolled her eyes from across the room. “He’s a romance novel vampire.”

“Also known as lazy,” Vaughn said.

“Hey! It’s _clever._ ”

Rhys pouted dramatically, put out by his friends teasing, but when Angel started laughing, he couldn’t help but laugh too.

 

* * *

 

They had only invited a handful of people directly, but it’s common knowledge that word spreads like wildfire among teenagers. All it had to be was an empty house, but a _mansion_ with a _pool?_ What was originally a party of twenty ballooned into one of over a hundred in under an hour, and people were _still arriving._

Rhys hung near the back wall of the living room. In typical fashion, Vaughn had already outdrunk himself, and Rhys--being the great friend he was--had taken the poor guy up to the guest room and tucked him safely into bed. Now he was alone and out a wingman, because who knew where the hell Yvette had slinked off to?

At least Angel seemed to be having a good time, he thought as he watched her across the room. She sat with two girls Rhys recognized from school, laughing and clapping along as they flipped red cups on the coffee table. It was the first time he had seen her really interacting with someone outside their small circle, and despite some possessive feelings, didn’t want to interrupt.

His idle observing was interrupted by a voice from his right, so saturated with smugness it was practically dripping.

“Looking a little lonely there, pal. I’m surprised you’re not surrounded by your usual merry band of losers,” Vasquez said, saddling up beside Rhys and crowding into his space.

Rhys rolled his eyes, not even sparing him a glance. Vasquez had been trying the whole intimidate-and-manipulate thing since Rhys beat him for class rep back in freshman year, and quite frankly it had gotten old before it began.

He could feel Vasquez leering as he waited for Rhys’s reaction, and when one didn’t come tried again at a different angle. “What’s that you’re drinking? A cooler?” he scoffed.

“Hey, can you--I don’t know--fuck off?” Rhys said, taking a sip of his lime-flavored cooler, which was delicious and getting him adequately drunk, thank you very much.

“Whoa-ho kitty, put away those claws!” Vasquez said, pushing off the wall to face Rhys, though one hand remained planted just above his shoulder. Sometimes, if Rhys didn’t know better, he’d think Vasquez was into him. “I was just asking so I could grab you another.”

Like, really into him. Also full of shit.

“Or,” he went on, picking at his nails in feigned casualness, “I might have other, funner things. If you’re interested.”

The alcohol was making Rhys just stupid enough that this seemed like an okay idea, and even his sober self would have to agree that free was free. So he followed after Vasquez to the backyard, and stepped out with him into the mild autumn air.

Though still occupied, it was much quieter out here without the blaring music or people screaming over a game of king's cup. Rhys shuffled his feet as he watched Vasquez produce the joint from his back pocket and bring it to his lips.

Gross. Butt joint.

Vasquez patted for a moment at his pants. “Uh, got a light?”

Rhys groaned. No weed was worth spending this much time in close proximity to Vasquez, even if it turned out to be the best in the city.

“I’m going back inside.”

“Anyone have a light?” Vasquez said louder, looking around. “Have five seconds of patience Rhys, Jesus.”

“Never mind, Vasquez,” Rhys said, turning towards the door until he felt a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“C’mon, I at least give you the courtesy of using your goddamn name--”

“You _want_ to be called Hugo?”

Rhys could see the gears turning as Vasquez tried to think up an appropriate and witty comeback, but halted whatever he was going to say with a finger.

“You--!”

“Shhh!”

Something was wrong.

All muffled sound from inside had abruptly ceased, replaced by a tense and ominous quiet.

Cautiously, Rhys slid open the back door and peeked inside. People were still there, but seemed to all be slowly shuffling towards the front, picking up their belongings and inebriated friends as they went. Stepping in, he followed the crowd, weaving between the guests towards their mutual destination. When he had nearly made it to the front door, he discovered with sudden heart-dropping, pulse-quickening, blood-running-cold dread why everyone was leaving.

In the middle of the foyer stood Jack, menacing and looking ready to kill, though he spoke flippantly.

“That’s right, keep moving, _keep moving._ Did I stutter, cupcake? I don’t care if you have to drag your little friend by the arms, I want you _out!”_ he boomed at a particularly unfortunate girl, trying her best to keep her friend upright and walking.

Rhys ducked out of Jack's line of sight, pressing up against the nearest wall. _Where the hell was Yvette-- Where the hell was Angel?_

Angel.

Rhys took a moment to look at his options. He didn’t have many, and none were ideal. Option A: he could hang around, face Jack with Angel and probably get blamed for everything, knowing his luck. Rhys didn’t like this idea very much, so there was also option B: if he went now, he could probably leave the place unnoticed. Being a regular here meant he knew about the side door from the basement, or the part of the backyard fence that was easiest to hop. He could let the brunt of Jack's anger fall on Angel; maybe it would be mitigated by Vaughn once Jack realized he was asleep upstairs. He’d feel the guilt for months, but he could do it.

He could.

He didn’t know which option he hated more.

 

* * *

 

Now

 

Fifteen minutes had passed since Angel had gone upstairs, and then another five minutes till they decided to rock-paper-scissors over who would dare to eavesdrop. Then it would be a few more minutes of Rhys stalling and trying to pass the burden before finally, begrudgingly accepting his role and making his way up the staircase.

As quietly as he could manage, Rhys made it to about the three-quarter point before he stopped to listen, peering through the bannister and down the hall towards Jack's office. At first, any sounds of voices were muffled, but soon they began to raise in volume until Rhys could make out words.

“Enough!” Jack said sharply, causing Rhys to wince. “Why do you ask for things like this, Angel? Do I not give you enough?”

The next few moments were quiet, which Rhys assumed were taken up by Angel before Jack started again. “Exactly! So why are you trying to break my heart? Haven’t I been hurt enough by your mother?”

From his vantage point, Rhys continued to watch the as another moment of quiet passed, the shadows in the light from underneath the door moving as if someone were pacing. Then the voices were back to an indistinguishable mumble.

When the door finally opened, Rhys was already retreating two steps at a time, but he still managed to catch Jack’s “I do this because I love you, sweetheart.”

“Act casual!” he hissed as he made his way back over to where Yvette and Vaughn were waiting expectantly, shaking his head to indicate that no, things had not gone well.

“You’re the only one--whatever.” Yvette said, looking past Rhys to where Angel was descending the stairs, closer on his heels then he had realized.

“So I’m guessing you heard all that,” she said as Rhys turned to face her fully, sheepishly running his flesh hand through his hair. But god--she looked defeated. Like she had been through much more than simply asking to go out on a Friday night. Rhys suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for pushing her, and a need to make things right.

“How about I ask him?” Rhys suggested, causing not only Angel to blanch.

“Uhhh, and how would that make any difference?” Vaughn asked. “No offense.”

Rhys looked at them all, flashing his deal making smile, “I’m the charming one, aren’t I?”

 

* * *

 

Rhys found Jack on the upstairs balcony overlooking the front garden, leaning over the railing, smoke rising in a thin ribbon from the cigarette between his fingers. Jack only smoked after sex, or when he was more stressed than usual, so Rhys made a note to tread lightly.

“No,” Jack said firmly before Rhys could even cross the balcony’s threshold.

Rhys stopped in the doorway, casually tucking his hands into his back pockets. “I haven’t said anything.”

Jack turned turned to face him, eyes critical and knowing. “But I know what you’re going to. ‘Please Jack, the greatest and most generous and handsome guy in the universe, let me take your perfect, untainted daughter to a thriving cesspool of degenerates and thuggery!’” He said, pitching his voice several octaves higher and talking through his nose.

“I don’t sound like that,” Rhys said, crossing his arms.

“Don’t know why you thought asking me personally would change my answer,” Jack continued over him, dropping the butt of his cigarette and grinding it into the slatted wood. “A college party? Rhysie, please, you might as well ask me to throw my daughter to the wolves.”

“A university party,” Rhys corrected as he stepped closer, as if it made a difference. As if a gathering of drunken eighteen-to-twenty-four-year-olds wasn’t a universal experience.

“The answer is no, kiddo.”

“Come on, Jack. We’ll be with her all night.”

Rhys knew he was pushing it, because now Jack was approaching him, and in just two long strides they were face to face. Despite his nerves, Rhys felt a little smug. Over the summer he had begun another growth spurt, and now stood a good two inches taller than Jack, who had to look up at him through his narrowed eyes.

The man was still intimidating as fuck though, and it wasn’t long before Rhys was shrinking his posture.

“Y’know,” Jack said, voice quiet and low, “you’ve got a lot of nerve after the shit you’ve pulled when it comes to Angel and parties--”

“Three years ago!”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Rhysie.”

“Jack… please.”

Why hadn’t Angel just lied?

Jack took half a step back, sighing as he crossed his arms, “Listen, I get why this is hard for you to understand,” he said, speaking slowly, like you would to a difficult child. “You’ve never been a parent--and considering yours let you go chopping your own limbs off, well...it’s not like you have great examples either--but I’m not the bad guy here, Rhys.”

Rhys stood, dumbfounded. _Where did he even begin with all that?_

So he didn’t. Instead he took a step forward, closing the space between them once more as he brought his flesh hand down and cupped Jack through his pants. It was a particularly bold move, surprising both himself and Jack as his fingers dug into the denim.

The moment that followed was tense and still, their eyes locking, Rhys’s hand firm but unmoving on Jack's dick. Suddenly, faster than lightning, Jack's hand was around his wrist, pulling it away, his grip so hard that Rhys couldn’t suppress a pained gasp. Jack's eyes on him were hard, and seemed unfocused, almost as though they were seeing past him.

“Jack.” Rhys winced as the hold on his wrist tightened, bones creaking at the pressure of the grasp.

Just as quickly as it had come, the grip on him was loosened, and Jack came back to himself. Rhys breathed a sigh of relief before he was being smacked in the face with his own hand.

“Ow! What the hell?!”

Jack cackled, finally letting Rhys go and breaking the tension as he doubled over with palms on his thighs. All Rhys could do was watch on, annoyed and rubbing his sore wrist.

When he had calmed down enough to get through a sentence, Jack finally straightened up, rubbing the tears of laughter from his eyes and composing himself.

“Classic,” he said as he returned to the edge of the balcony, turning his back once again. “Go to your party, or don’t. But Angel stays here with me.”

 

* * *

 

 Then

 

Angel sat on the foyer stairs as the last of the guests cleared out. She looked absolutely petrified, bent over her knees and clutching her head, not daring to look up at Jack who loomed over her and watched as people left.

When he seemed sure the final person was gone, he knelt down in front of her, a hand coming to rest on her shoulder as he spoke in a hushed tone. Whatever he was saying was too quiet to hear, but Rhys could see the way it made Angel shrink further within herself, how her hands tightened in her hair, knuckle white.

“--but for now, it’s late, and you need to get to bed. Upstairs, chop chop!” Jack finished, voice now back to its regular volume.

Angel only gave a quiet and affirmative “yes sir” as she went, and didn’t even spare Rhys a glance, eyes focused on the steps in front of her. Rhys took that as his cue to move, too.

“Ah-ah, not you, Rhysie!”

Rhys froze in place, spine going ramrod straight. He heard Jack walk over, come up behind him and put a firm hand on his back. Let Jack guide him over to the living room, his eyes darting around, looking for any indication of what to expect next.

“Sit,” was all Jack said, once they had made it to the couches.

Rhys did as he was told without protest, sat on the far end of the couch and made himself as small as possible. He tried to focus on sobering up, on what and what not to say. Not on how hot Jack was when he was angry and out of sorts like this. How his intimidation was also a total turn-on. How good his ass looked in those tight jeans. How _not to pop a boner right now for Christ's sake fuck_ \--

“Want a beer, cupcake?” Jack asked, snapping Rhys out of his thoughts and back to the moment.

“What?” Rhys asked stupidly.

Jack didn’t repeat himself, instead bringing over two frosty bottles.

Rhys didn’t even like beer--kind of hated it, actually, too bitter--but he didn’t decline the offer. He would choose drinking foul-tasting water over looking bad in front of Jack any day, and definetly wouldn’t relinquish the chance to be treated like an adult so casually.

Jack took a seat opposite him on one of the large chairs. Sinking back into the leather and propping his feet on the coffee table, he looking pointedly at Rhys.

“You and I have some things to sort out, Rhysie,” he said, gesturing towards Rhys with his beer bottle. “See, I know Angel is going to take all the blame for--” he waved his hand unspecifically around the room. “But _I_ know that just plain isn’t true, because I know my baby girl, and she would never even _think_  to pull something this stupid off.” He paused here, made sure Rhys met him eye-to-eye. “Not without some serious outside influence.”

Shit.

Shit shit _shit._

Rhys gulped so loud it was almost comical. This was bad, maximum levels of bad bad bad. Miles worse than just being scolded by Jack and having it done with, because unless he wanted to take full credit, which he very much did not, he was being asked to be a _rat._

Dammit! It hadn’t even been his idea! Not initially. It had been Yvette's--and where was she anyways? She should have been here, facing this with him--

“Rhys,” Jack said, tone warning and impatient.

“She wasn’t being serious when she made the suggestion,” Rhys spat out, his words running together in their speed.

“She?” Jack cocked his head.

“Yeah... Yvette... It was just a joke.” Rhys could feel his gut twist at the betrayal.

“And you? What about the other one, the shorty?”

“Vaughn and I...” Rhys stopped to lick his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “We didn’t... Well, I mean, we didn’t stop... it…”

“So what you’re saying is it’s all of your fault, but mostly Yvette's fault,” Jack said, an eyebrow ticking up.

Rhys nodded slowly.

It wasn’t a total lie. It _had_ been Yvette who started it, who came up with this genius idea, then booked it to who-knows-where once things went south. It had been Rhys who stayed, and no one could reasonably expect him to take the fall for something that wasn’t entirely his fault, right?

Finally, after a silence that had gone on too long for Rhys’s comfort, he asked timidly, “Am I in trouble?”

“Well, you would have been, if you had stayed quiet, or worse, let Angel take the blame.” Jack's tone was steady, but Rhys could see how his hand tightened around the neck of his beer bottle, as if to strangle it, then just as quickly relax as he went on. “But you didn’t! Really showed where your loyalties lie instead. It takes guts to do the right thing, even if it screws a friend.”

It felt even worse with Jack saying it out loud. For a second Rhys considered revising the lie, but then thought better of it. It was too late.

“You did good, kid,” said Jack, as if he sensed Rhys’s unease. He reached forward for the TV touchpad. “Now, you’re sleeping here on the couch, but I have a marathon of people trying to get through cruel but hilarious obstacle courses to watch, so you’ll be staying up with me for a little while longer.”

Despite everything, a part of Rhys’s hindbrain shot up in excitement. Time alone with Jack was rare and precious jerk-off material, after all. Rhys could think about the bizarre timing of Jack’s return much later, maybe question for a second where Jack's luggage was. He could worry about the consequences of his actions tomorrow--or more precisely, next week, when they found out Yvette was barred from coming over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So y'know how there hasn't been much smut in the past couple chapters? Yeah...next chapter makes up for that in spades.


	6. Chapter 6

Now

 

It was going on two weeks since Rhys had last seen Jack for one of their hotel rendezvous, for once _actually_ busy with his studies. He was hunched over on his bed, strewn with paper and wrappers from his third night of vending machine dinner, when he got a text from Jack, the message flashing across his eyes’ HUD and disrupting his cross-referencing:

**Outside**

It was only one word, but still Rhys startled, hunching down as he looked around wildly, as if Jack could actually see him right now. As if anyone could--he was completely alone in the room.  Agitated, he responded to the single word message in kind:

**Why?**

Jack's response was almost immediate--a rare occurrence that only happened when he was at the last of his patience--and it was just as presumptuous as the first:

**U kno y**

Rhys made a noise of annoyance in the back of his throat. _Jack was so goddamn entitled! He could have called it in early and been asleep by now, or not even there._  Rhys guessed if that was the case Jack would have insisted he wake up or come back, and Rhys would have followed orders much like he was now.

The words “lap dog” couldn't help but come to mind.

He was already in his pajamas, but didn’t bother changing. It was just Jack, and there wasn’t really a point in dressing nice for what he guessed was a late night booty call, not when he’d probably be taking it all off again soon. Instead he shrugged on the cardigan that he had earlier dropped thoughtlessly onto the floor. It was his favorite, worn with age and sporting his highschool colours, and slipped on flip flops usually reserved for the shower. It would do.

As he reached to open the door to leave, the handle turned on its own, prompting Rhys to take a surprised step back as it swung open and Vaughn let himself in.

“Woah! Rhys!” He startled as he looked up, jumping a little with a hand to his chest. “Man, you-- wow, that got me bad.”

“Sorry,” Rhys said, smiling down at him.

“You going somewhere?” Vaughn asked as he assessed Rhys’ attire with a raised brow.

Rhys blinked stupidly. He had already forgotten. “Uh, yeah,” he fumbled for a lie, “I need to grab something from the student center.”

“Isn’t it closed by now? It’s pretty late.”

“Yeah, well,” Rhys shrugged, “won’t know until I get there.”

Vaughn furrowed his brow, and Rhys couldn’t tell if he was buying it or not. Reluctantly, he asked, “when will you be back?”

Not buying it. Time to deflect.

“Dude, what are you, my mom?” Rhys said, waving his hands and rolling his eyes in a big show he almost immediately felt guilty for. Vaughn was just looking out for him. “I’ll be back when I’m back.”

At the deepening crease in Vaughn's forehead he emphasized, “in a bit. Like an hour okay?” And before there were any more questions he was exiting the room, closing the door on whatever protest Vaughn had begun to voice.

 

Then

 

“So,” Rhys said as he adjusted his tie in the mirror, bright red in complementary contrast to his black and teal dress shirt. “How does this look?”

He turned to Vaughn, who was currently perched on his bed skimming idly through his phone. Rhys cleared his throat loudly. “Bro.”

“Oh!” Vaughn said as his attention was caught. “Um, hmmm...”

He brought his hands up in front of him, sticking out his index finger and thumb on each as he squinted to frame Rhys in the space between them. Rhys smiled wide and played along, placing his hands on his hips and puffing his chest dramatically till the both broke down in laughter.

“You look good, dude. Like, really.” Vaughn finished awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and turning his face away. “Though I don’t know who you’re looking to impress, it’s not like we have real dates.”

Rhys chuckled low, already trying to capture the perfect selfie with his phone. “Don’t say that in front of Jack.”

To everyone’s surprise Angel had been given permission to go to prom, but it was under very specific conditions: no stranger as a date, no staying out past the event, and most importantly, that Jack would officially chaperone. Soon he’d be picking them up, honking loudly outside the house to alert his arrival, sparing Vaughn and Rhys barely a glance as they clambered into the back seat of one of his fanciest rides.

Like many of his peers, Rhys was planning to get lucky that night, just not with his supposed date.

She did look nice though.

“Looking really sharp, guys.” Angel smiled back at them, turning in her seat at the front to get a better look.

“You too,” Rhys beamed back. “Cool hair.”

It was the first thing he noticed--how could he not? Since the day they’d met, Angel had worn her hair long, tied back loose and often covering half her face. The girl in front of him now was clean shaven, entire head shorn down almost to the skin. Rhys hoped he didn’t look as shocked as he felt.

Angels eyes flicked quickly in Jack's direction before coming back to Rhys’ and softening with something like relief. “Thank you.”

“See, honey,” Jack said loud, as if he wanted all present to hear. “I told you people would love it.”

Rhys couldn’t place exactly why, but the mood shifted to something somber as Angel sighed and turned forward in her seat. The rest of the ride was spent in awkward silence, aside from Jack occasionally humming along with the radio.

 

Now

 

Jack didn’t say a word as Rhys climbed into the car, just hit the gas and began to drive. It was one of Jack's nicer rides, sleek and expensive with little interior room, certainly no back seat. If Jack wanted to fool around like Rhys had presumed, he wasn’t sure they’d have enough space to do it.

Once they were a few blocks away Jack found a place to park. It was hardly secluded, a quiet residential street where anyone could walk by and see them, though the chances were fewer at this hour. Maybe Rhys had been mistaken about the intentions of this meet-up after all, maybe Jack just wanted to talk, or--

“How’s the studying kiddo? Working hard? That’a boy,” Jack said, breaking the silence and grabbing Rhys right above the knee, causing him to yelp. “Now that that’s out of the way,” he continued as he slid his chair all the way back, “let’s get down to business.”

Never mind.

“Seriously?” Rhys said, gesturing to their surroundings. It’d been awhile since they’d used a car for one of their hook-ups, and he had been spoiled by the hotels. As good as Jack could be, the thought of fucking in cramped space was now way less appealing.

“Yeah, seriously,” Jack said bluntly. “It’s been a while and a man’s got needs.”

“Uh, I’m a man too,” Rhys said in protest.

Jack snorted. “Sure. So don’t act like you haven’t been jonesing for it too.”

Rhys could get out of this car right now, walk the few blocks they had traveled back to his dorm, and get some well-deserved shut-eye. Instead he crawled over the stick shift and cup holders between them, limbs contorting into awkward angles, lanky as they were, and into Jack's waiting lap.

“There’s a good boy,” Jack said, patting Rhys flank like you would a well-behaved dog.

Rhy squirmed a bit as Jack undid his belt below him and unzipped. “There isn’t a lot of room.”

“No shit.”

Jack was already reaching for the waist of Rhys’ pajama bottoms, fingers hooking under the elastic as he pulled down just enough to expose Rhys ass and half-hard cock.

“God, you are so _easy,_ kitten,” Jack chuckled as he reached into his own pants to pull out his erection. “If it was for anyone else I’d be embarrassed for you.”

“Shut up,” was all Rhys said as he glanced down at the two of them. Jack was one to talk, he was already fully hard and leaking. He must have already been like this when he had arrived to pick Rhys up, and Rhys had to admit, the possibility that just the _thought_  of him had made Jack like this... that Jack could have anyone in the city but came specifically to _him_... it was all a real confidence booster.

There wasn’t really any room to fuck like this, but there was just enough for mutual handjob so that’s what Rhys did. Reaching down with his organic hand, he encircled Jack's dick, kept his touch light and teasing as he tested the waters with an upstroke. He was rewarded with a sharp inhale as Jack lifted his hips upwards to meet him, and Rhys increased the pressure.

“That’s it. Good boy, gooood boy,” Jack crooned, voice thick and heavy with arousal as his hips  started a rhythm.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Rhys said, glancing down at his neglected erection, which was only growing harder at Jack's praise. Like hell he was going to come all the way out here in the middle of the night only to be blue-balled.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Despite his grousing, Jack spared no time attending to Rhys, who was already flushed pink and wet at the tip, bringing a hand up to squeeze around him and pump in firm, lazy strokes. Rhys let out a moan of relief, tipping himself forward to lean his weight on Jack's chest as he picked up the pace of his own hand.

Through the haze of getting off Rhys wondered to himself about how long this was going to take. Vaughn was going to get worried, get _suspicious_ , especially when Rhys returned to the dorm empty handed. It’s not like he could even say it was closed after all, he’d already taken too long and fuck-- _fuck_  that felt good.

“Jack…” Rhys groaned, rolling his hips in tandem with their stroking.

Jack brought his free hand up to Rhys’s face, cupping it as he brushed a calloused thumb along the jut of his cheekbone. “That’s my name, babe, you’ll never wear it out.”

His hand slid forward, tracing along the line of Rhys’s jaw before it came to a stop at his mouth. Rhys responded almost instantly; without any needed verbal command he parted his lips, allowing Jack to slip his fingers in, and sucked.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” Jack said, and he would pick now of all times, while Rhys was pre-occupied. “You’ve been showing some real dedication to the Hyperion brand. To be honest, I never thought you’d take it this far, didn’t think you had it in you.” He grunted, letting go of Rhys cock to envelop his hand instead, gripping around it to adjust the pressure Rhys was using, “There, like that--but you proved me wrong, kiddo. Ya proved me wrong. And that is saying a _lot._ ”

He popped the ‘t’ at the same time he popped his fingers out of Rhys’ mouth.

“Thanks,” Rhys said, a little breathless. He kept his tone aloof, but only to mask how much he was preening at the flattery.

“Which is why,” Jack continued, as he reached around and unceremoniously shoved his slicked up hand into the back of Rhys’ pants.  “I think it’s about time you got a tour of the place--nah-ah not the usual _boring_  tour,” he added, sensing Rhys’ interruption saying he had already _been_  on the tour of Hyperion's main facility, _obviously_ , had even been on tours of the _sub-facilities_. “This one is special, this one is guided by _me._ ”

Jack ran his wet fingers down the cleft of Rhys’ ass till they were resting against his entrance, making Rhys shiver, his breath coming out shaky as he nodded at the suggestion--both suggestions. “Yeah, okay.”

“Wrong answer, cupcake,” Jack scolded. At some point he had returned his other hand to its original position around Rhys’s dick, and was now squeezing slightly harder than was comfortable.

Rhys’ brows furrowed in discomfort and confusion before he realized the response Jack was looking for. “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack nodded, apparently satisfied enough to relent on the pressure in front and refocus on the back as he pressed both fingers in at once.

Rhys keened, arching his back as his mouth fell open and slack in a silent moan, his hand around Jack's cock his only grounding point.

“We really gotta work on your manners, Rhysie,” Jack said, fingers thrusting in and out at an unrelenting pace, pressing up against his prostate. Rhys could come like this, was going to come like this, if Jack didn’t let up. “Most people in the business world aren’t as kind as me.”

Rhys could have had a really good comeback to that bold a lie, he was sure of it, but instead he was coming, sudden and harder than expected, any quips lost in a loud drawn-out groan.

Without meaning to, he let himself fall backwards as the sparks behind his eyelids subsided, only to rest right on top of the steering wheel-- and car horn-- the loud and sudden noise causing him to jump and squawk.

Jack of course found this _hilarious_ , smacking Rhys’ thigh repeatedly as he cackled. Rhys crossed his arms, reddening at the ears and giving Jack his best unamused look as he waited out the laughing fit, still too preoccupied with riding off the high of a good orgasm to be truly annoyed.

Finally, Jack got himself together. “Pumpkin-- ha-- sometimes you-- aaah, it doesn’t matter.” He let out a sigh of contentment. “What _does matter_  is I came out here for reasons aside from watching you make an ass of yourself.”

Rhys didn’t need to be told what he was talking about or what to do. Still a bit heady from post-orgasm bliss, Rhys pushed himself backwards, off of Jack's lap and onto the car floorboard. And though he was a bit too big for this, his feet knocking against the gas pedals as he positioned himself between Jack's legs, he gave Jack what he wanted without protest.

 

Then

 

The ballroom the school had rented out was lavish, as expected from a higher class private school. A white, blue and gold palette had been chosen for the event, the large tables placed around the dance floor draped in golden material, with extravagant bouquets of ivory and cream flowers in the center of each. The walls were lined with shimmering cloth, see through enough that you could see the small, star-like lights shining through when it reached up across the ceiling. Throughout the room groups clustered together, talking and laughing and taking photos, all dressed to the nines to celebrate their survival of twelve years of hell.

Yvette had arrived before them, travelling separately from the rest of the group. Things had never fully smoothed over from Rhys letting her take the fall for the house party incident, and she wasn’t welcome in Jack's house, let alone his car. Vaughn had been the one to call out to her, making her turn her attention away from the group she was mingling with and make her way over to them with her date.

“'Bout time you guys got here,” she said, scanning the group's attire with a critical eye. “Looking pretty sharp--though you could probably do without the tie, Rhys.”

Beside her her date snickered.

That was the other reason she didn’t come with them. That she had a date wasn’t the issue, it’s that that date was _Vasquez._  Rhys didn’t know what the hell she had been thinking; Yvette was too smart to be tricked by Vasquez’s sub-par charm, and he couldn’t figure out what was in it for her.

What Rhys did know for certain was that Vasquez was doing this to piss Rhys off, specifically. To make him jealous and encroach on his space and be a pest, though only the latter was working.

As they all made their way over to one of the tables to sit, Vasquez slid up close beside Rhys and said in a low tone, “You are though,” he said as he swept his eyes over Rhys’ body, “looking really good. Like you want to impress _someone_.”

The implication was clear and Rhys scoffed. “Save it for Yvette.”

“I was _trying_  to pay you a compliment, you ungrateful--”

“Hey, Vasquez,” Vaughn interjected, swooping in like the master wing-man he was. “That is a _nice_  suit, what brand is it?”

Vasquez’s whole demeanor changed, chest puffing at the compliment, any insults for Rhys forgotten. Relieved, Rhys took his seat, positioning himself as far from Vasquez as possible, and with the best sight-line of Jack.

Jack had made himself scarce the moment they had arrived, which was a blessing, in a way. It would make everything easier. At the moment, he had positioned himself over by the hors d'oeuvres table, leaning back against the wall and looking positively pressed to be there, eyes laser sharp on their table. Rhys hoped he’d be too focused on Angel to notice his glances.

“What do you think, it looks good, right?” Yvette said, bringing Rhys’ attention back to the group.

“What does?”

Yvette looked askance at him. “Angel's hair? The thing we’ve been talking about for the past five minutes?”

“Can we please drop it?” Angel asked from beside him, voice taking on a sharper edge than Rhys was used to. “Really, it’s no big deal.”

“Maybe not for other people,” Yvette pressed, “but your dad won’t let you paint your nails, let alone shave your head. I’m just surprised he allowed it.”

This close Rhys could catch the cringe at Yvette's words before Angel bristled. “I’m allowed to paint my nails.”

He must have sensed the budding tension, because once again Vaughn came to the rescue, nudging Rhys and stage-whispering with a smirk. “Hey, before any servers come around, wanna crack out the you-know-what?”

The table's attention swiveled to them, any interest in Angel's appearance lost as Yvette raised a brow at them. Reaching into the sides of their jackets, Rhys and Vaughn produced matching flasks, uncapping them below the table before bumping them together.

“To us!” They said in unison, quicking downing a swig before hiding them again.

“To _share._ ” Yvette's other brow had joined the first, and now she looked at them expectantly.

“Of course.” Vaughn smiled, passing his flask under the table into Yvette's waiting hand. “We brought them for everyone.”

Rhys pursed his lips. “Not if it means sharing with him,” he said, cocking his head in Vasquez's direction.

Besides, he thought, he’d need all the liquid courage he could get.

 

* * *

 

The night went on without much fanfare, and dinner was eventually served. As Rhys idly twirled pasta onto his fork, his eyes flicked in Jack's direction for the upteenth time.

His position hadn’t changed much, the only really noticeable difference being his focused stance had now dissolved into one that was thoroughly bored. It was another fifteen minutes before he finally pushed himself off the wall he had been reclining on and made his way towards the ballroom doors.

This was Rhys’ chance.

Shoving his forkful of pasta into his mouth, he fumbled for a quick excuse. “Wrow thif food ish--” he swallowed, “--this food is really good, but uh, I don’t think it’s agreeing with me!”

“Probably because you’re eating it too damn fast,” Yvette said without even looking up from her own plate.

“Yeah, well.” Rhys quickly pushed his chair back, nearly stumbling over himself in his haste, “I might be gone a while, is what I’m saying.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Vaughn chided, but stopped him with a light hold of his arm before Rhys could get away, saying in a quieter tone, “you OK?”

Rhys gave him a wan smile. “I’ll be fine, bro, but I gotta go. Like now.”

Vaughn nodded and let Rhys’ arm go, but he didn’t miss how his friend watched him as he left, all the way to the exit.

He was working in a limited time slot. Jack had already gotten too much of a head start and Rhys was worried he had already lost track of him as he pushed through the ballroom's doors. Thankfully, the venue was expansive, the hallways large and long, and Jack was only halfway down the one left to the main hall.

Rhys followed at a brisk pace, while simultaneously trying to remain quiet and discreet. At least he hoped he was being discreet--the alcohol was starting to kick in. If Jack noticed, he didn’t act like it, continuing until he reached the private washroom. Rhys picked up his speed to an almost jog as Jack disappeared inside, stopping the door from shutting with his foot and slipping in after him.

Jack turned to face him as Rhys leaned against the door to catch his breath, the picture of casualness. He must have known.

“Had a feeling it was you,” he said nonchalantly, producing a small baggie filled with white powder from his inner breast pocket and tipping half its contents into the crook between his wrist and thumb. He stopped mid-pour, a considering look crossing his face before he glanced up at Rhys. “You want some?”

This hadn’t been what Rhys was expecting; already his plan getting away from him. “What?” he said dumbly, too caught off guard to give a proper answer.

Jack shook the baggie in his direction, as if to reiterate.

“Uh--no. Thanks. I’m good.”

“Suit yourself, more for me.” Jack shrugged, bringing his hand up to one nostril and breathing in sharp, snorting up the contents. He sighed, loud and content as he wiped his nose. “Whew, that is some good shit!”

Rhys remained against the door, trying to plan out his next move. Admittedly, he’d been thrown for a bit of a loop here, and some adjustments needed to be made before he continued.

Jack looked Rhys up and down, only now seeming to realize the situation they were in. “I mean--don’t do drugs, Rhysie.” He paused, smile wolfish as he pocketed the powder. “Not until you’re older.”

“Then why did you--” Rhys began, but it didn’t matter, he needed to push forward. “Never mind.”

He approached Jack with some trepidation, stepping into his space till they were less than a foot apart. Jack, on the other hand didn’t make a move, watching Rhys with idle curiosity as he composed himself for what he was about to do. He wished he was a bit drunker.

Finally, Jack spoke. “Your breath sure smells boozy.”

Rhys smiled, a little coy. Letting some overconfidence wash over and mask his nerves. “You want some?” he said.

Jack snorted and blew out a loud puff of air through his lips, flecking Rhys face with spittle, “Hell no. I don’t want any craptastic swill you probably pilfered from your parents liquor cabinet.”

He paused mid-berating. “Hey,” he said, voice taking on a more serious tone that had Rhys almost losing his cool and stepping back. “You better not have given any of that garbage to Angel.”

Rhys huffed out a surprised laugh. “I- please, don’t bring her up right now. Just--just shut up. And let me do this.”

Before Jack could retort or retaliate, Rhys was closing the space between them and sinking to his knees, looking up to meet Jack's surprised eyes through his lashes. “Please.”

To his surprise, Jack didn’t say anything as Rhys ran his fingers along the edge of his belt, watching in what must have been a kind of stunned silence as Rhys leaned in, face so close he could smell the fabric softener Jack used. When he finally pressed his mouth to the denim, Jack let a harsh breath from above, like he’d been holding it.

Rhys revelled in the moment as he popped the button of Jack's fly and undid the zipper, only to be interrupted by a hand on his head, pushing him back.

Rhys looked up, almost distraught, _he was so fucking close_ \--

“You’re eighteen, right?” Jack asked, voice rough and breathy.

Rejection was what Rhys had been expecting, not Jack's hand pulling him back in as he nodded. “A few months ago.”

“Didn’t ask for your life story, sweetheart.” Jack said, relaxing back against the bathroom's single sink.

With adrenaline and alcohol coursing through him in equal measure, Rhys was overeager, to say the least. Jack had been the regular subject of Rhys’ masturbation fodder, countless jerk-off sessions fueled by fantasies like the one playing out right now. He’d thought in-depth about how to go about it, how he’d imitate the pornos he’d watched to really get Jack going.

Once he’d reached in and drawn Jack out (Rhys should have known he’d be the commando type) he made sure to glance up and make eye contact, giving Jack his best doe-eyed and vulnerable look, spreading his legs a little wider across the cold tiles of the floor and batting his lashes as he pulled back the skin of Jacks dick and brought it to his lips.

Jack was about average in length, girthier than he was long, and uncut. Not that Rhys would complain, it was still _Jack's_.  Rhys took his time, pressing the flat of his tongue to the thick vein running up the underside and following it to the tip, where he let spit gather and run down Jack's length. He really did want to savor this, because seriously, when would he get another chance? This was a one-time deal, he figured, and he hadn’t even expected to get _this_  far, but a throat clearing cough from above signaled for Rhys to pick up the pace.

He kept his breathing through his nose steady, taking Jack in an inch before pulling back partway and repeating. He was rewarded with a strung-out groan, one of Jack’s hands coming down to pet through his hair before curving around the back of his head and pushing his own hips forward. Rhys almost gagged at the intrusion, but carried on in spite of it, relaxing to meet Jack at each thrust as drool dribbled down his chin. Jack could wreck him, he’d let him wreck him.

“Damn, pumpkin. You do this kinda thing often, or are you some kind of blowjob savant?” Jack breathed, tone humorous and maybe a little actually impressed.

Rhys couldn’t help his surprised laugh, though it came out muffled with his full mouth. It wasn’t like Rhys had a history of clandestine blowjobs, but he _had_  been practicing. He couldn’t think of a more embarrassing scenario: getting to this moment with Jack only to fail miserably at getting him off, or worse, being _mediocre._  A quickie to forget in a sea of sexcapades.

Vasquez had been the perfect target for Rhys to experiment on, because if he fumbled with _him_  it was no skin off Rhys’ nose. The worst that could happen there was a little bruised pride, and disappointing Jack was _way_  worse than sucking Vasquez's dick as far as Rhys was concerned.

He’d had been more than willing to go along, too, letting Rhys into his bedroom under the false pretence that he’d somehow won, finally charming or at least strong-arming Rhys until he could no longer resist his advances.

“What’s got you so smug, huh?” Jack asked from above, hand fisting tightly in Rhys’ hair.

Rhys let out a pained whine, but Jack didn’t relent, pulling Rhys forward till his nose rested against Jack's pubic bone. “Eyes up.”

Somehow, despite the air deprivation and gag reflex suppression, Rhys complied, wet eyes rolling up to meet Jack's. The smile that spread across Jack's face was slow, curling upwards to reveal a sharp glint of teeth.

“Good boy,” he said, and he looked alight with something Rhys could neither place nor understand.

What he _could_  understand was how Jack's words made him feel, like electricity was being pressed into the base of his spine, travelling forward along his hips and straight to his groin.  

_Good boy._

And then he was being pulled back, off of Jack's dick as he came, cum splattering across Rhys face and necktie, making him wince.

“Whew!” Jack breathed loudly above him, his carefree demeanor returning as if it had never been gone. He grinned down at Rhys, running a hand through his hair, much more gentle than it had been during the rest of their encounter. “Thanks for that, cupcake. At least coming here tonight wasn’t a _total_  waste of my time.”

He pet Rhys' head once more, and then he was zipping up and gone, leaving Rhys still shell-shocked and on his knees, staring at the pattern of tiles on the washrooms wall.

When he finally blinked himself back into the moment, the first thing he did was begin to laugh. He did it, he actually fucking did it! He sucked Jack's cock and Jack had _liked_  it, and Rhys had never felt more simultaneously triumphant and unfulfilled in his entire life.

He looked down to his tenting pants and stained tie, felt the cum drying on his face, and hoped his friends wouldn’t notice how long he’d been gone.

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks would be taken up by exams and final projects being due, then it would be graduation, and finally Angel would take off on her trip through Europe. Without her as a common ground, Rhys wouldn’t see Jack for almost another year.

 

Now

 

Rhys slowly opened the door to his room, careful not to make any noise as he slipped in and shut it behind him. He had been gone longer than he’d hoped, and now the room was dark, a lumpy form in Vaughn's bed wrapped tight underneath the covers. Rhys breathed out a sigh of relief; this made things easier, now he had time to think up a good story. That and he was pretty sure he had cum stains on his shirt.

 

* * *

 

After Jack had finished, Rhys had crawled back into his seat, slumping against the leather upholstery, more spent than he thought he’d be.

“Man, you sure know how to hit the spot, Rhysie,” Jack said beside him, fixing his hair in the rearview mirror before lifting his hips to fish around in his back pockets.

What he produced was his wallet, and from that a golden money clip filled with bills, which was pressed into Rhys palm. Rhys stared down at the cash. He didn’t know how much he was currently holding, but he could see the outermost bill was a crisp hundred.

“Wha--”

“Don’t start asking stupid questions,” Jack interrupted, then gave him a thoughtful once -over. “Use it to buy yourself some _nice_  clothing for a change,” he suggested, thumbing the fabric of Rhys' worn cardigan.

Rhys let out a snort, pushing Jack's hand away but pocketing the money nonetheless. “Do you want me to call you “daddy” too?” he asked incredulously.

Jack's eyes snapped up at that, nostrils flaring as he leaned in close, his smile bright and dangerous, "Careful. You're toeing a fine line between Really Hot and Really Gross right now. What do ya say to another round?" he said, before snorting loudly at his own humor, "For 'daddy.'"

Rhys had almost said yes. It was so easy to give into Jack's whims, even when it was this late, when he was this tired, but he managed to decline, pulling away fully and stepping out of the car.

“I’ll get myself home,” he said through the door’s gap before closing it. Jack didn’t protest, just shrugged, not even waving as he drove away.

 

* * *

 

‘Rhys?’ Vaughn's voice came through the darkness, causing Rhys to wince.

“Yeah, it’s just me, bro, go back to sleep.”

“It...it’s 1:30 AM.”

“Yeah. I...it took longer than I thought it would.”

Rhys pulled the ruined shirt over his head, balling it up and stuffing it in the bottom of his drawer to be dealt with later as he felt around for a fresh one. For good measure, he stashed away the money, too.

“Hey...” came Vaughn's voice again, and Rhys turned to see he had rolled over to face him. “If something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?”

He hated himself for it, but of course he lied. “You’d be the first person I’d go to, bro.”

“Okay,” Vaughn said, sounding unconvinced. “It’s just that-- you’ve been weirdly absent lately… sometimes I wonder... if you’ve found someone else? To hang out with, I mean. Someone better than y’know, me.”

Rhys’ brows furrowed together, a knot tightening in his chest in reaction to his crestfallen friend. Vaughn was wrong, it wasn’t like that. Jack wasn’t _better_. He was just _addictive._

“Vaughn…” Rhys went over to Vaughn's bedside, crouching down so they were eye level. “Dude, no one could _ever_  replace you. You’re my best friend, man.” Rhys smiled, and he hoped it was reassuring.

“I know that,” Vaughn sighed, “but you’re _you._  It’s hard not to think that you’ve moved on.”

“I promise.” Rhys said firmly. “College has just been a lot harder than I thought, I promise I’ll try to be around more.”

It took a moment, but finally Vaughn smiled back. “Y’know, it’d be a lot _less_  hard if you didn’t leave studying till the last minute.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rhys waved his hand dismissively, standing up to make his way over to his own bed and thankful things smoothed over so easily.

“If anyone can make it, Rhys, you can,” Vaughn said, yawning through his words, and asleep again before Rhys could think of a response.

He felt like shit. And as he settled under the covers he thought about how much longer he could get away with this.

That, and about the new shirt he was going to buy with his money.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for keeping up with and reading my fic, I appreciate every one of you!! <3  
> And thank you as always to my beta for her hard work editing and brainstorming with me.
> 
> Feel free to follow me over on tumblr, where I'm hoping to get some related art posted in the near future:  
> http://cinderpath.tumblr.com/


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